


One for the Road

by arabella505



Category: Arctic Monkeys
Genre: Cunnilingus, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Non-stop smut tour, One Night Stands, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabella505/pseuds/arabella505
Summary: When Adri's life falls apart, her best friend Miles is there to pick up the pieces. And for him, that means bringing her on tour while he opens for the Arctic Monkeys. And when Adri and Alex start to hook up on tour, they decide to keep it secret, not sure how Miles will react. But what starts out as a fling turns more serious, and by the end of tour, it gets harder to keep everyone from getting hurt.





	1. Los Angeles, United States

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers/Notes:  
> 1\. Set during the AM tour, as if Arielle Vandenberg wasn't in the picture.  
> 2\. I have taken liberties with dates/places, and the fact that Miles Kane did not open for every single show of the of the tour in order to make the story work. Also, where people were living at any given time.  
> 3\. I can't write accents very accurately, and find them very distracting to read, so you'll have to use your imagination for the most part.  
> 4\. Spoiler alert: don't worry, this story will not destroy Alex and Miles's friendship. I could never.  
> Enjoy!

**Los Angeles, United States**

I dropped my things in the front entrance of Miles’s Los Feliz house, grateful for the air conditioning, grateful for a familiar face. He was walking towards me with his arms wide open already, saying, “Aw, love,” hair mussed, eyes sympathetic. I pouted dramatically, to keep from actually crying, and folded myself into his warm hug, his cheek resting on top of my head.

“Poor, lamb,” he said. “You wanna get pissed?”

I nodded against him, “Please.”

We left my bags on the floor where they landed and walked downstairs, into the kitchen. Immediately, I could see he had prepared for my arrival. A bottle of vodka and two tumblers were waiting on the island counter for us. He filled both of the glasses with just vodka and ice– no mixer, he knew me well– and then handed one to me.

He held his up for a toast, so I did the same. “To my _newly single_ , very best friend,” he said, and the words– _newly single_ – hurt, but his goofiness was a balm, and he clinked his glass to mine. “There are plenty o’ fish in the pond.”

“The sea.”

“And they still manage to drink less than _us_ underwater. Cheers!”

We both took a long, burning drink before going outside, Miles carrying the bottle of vodka with him, and sat on the edge of his pool in the setting sun, our legs dipped in the cool water up to our knees.

“It was a long time coming, poppet,” he said quietly, after we had been sitting in silence for several minutes.

“I don’t need your campy, British pet names, Miles,” I said, though those campy, British pet names were the only thing making me feel like I had a home at the moment. I was also starting to feel warm from the vodka though, a little looser, and I sighed, “But you’re right.”

“I always said I didn’t like him– He weren’t right for ya.”

I rolled my eyes. “You have literally said that about every boyfriend I’ve had _since you_.”

He shrugged, sipped his vodka, saying, “And I ‘aven’t been wrong once.”

My eyes watched the ripples in the water created from our kicking feet, and I was overcome by sadness. It was strange, how my relationship with Chris had slowly deteriorated for years– practically the last three of our four year relationship. We had both watched it, clutching at loose ends, trying to salvage something that didn’t stand a chance. And it wasn’t that we really fought, or that either one of us was doing something wrong, which made it feel that much more hopeless– pathetic, useless, _sad_. We had just slowly, painfully, fallen more and more out of love with one another, moving around our intricately shared lives like familiar, exhausted strangers who could finish each other’s sentences by habit, not because we cared to. And now it was over.

“What ended it?”

He was no longer goofy, was suddenly gentle and empathetic, and I drained my glass to keep the unbidden burn of tears at bay.

As he immediately refilled my glass, I spoke: “Like you said, it was a long time coming. And he met someone else.”

It had been the pulling of the trigger– Chris sitting me down when I got home from grocery shopping to tell me. He was in such anguish revealing the details. He hadn’t meant for it to happen– he hadn’t cheated, but she had made him realize how much more he wanted, how we weren’t happy or right anymore. I had nodded, hadn’t cried, and told him I would move out immediately, would find another job, and he didn’t need to worry. And then I had packed the absolute essentials, texted Miles, and called a cab.

“I’ll fucking kill ‘im!”

“Miles,” I said tiredly, because he was half serious, and it wasn’t worth a fight. “It’s not his fault. Really.”

He put an arm around me, saying, “I really am sorry, Bug.” He gave me an exaggerated, wet kiss on the cheek. “But you will find someone better.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” I practically moaned, the world going watery with the slush of vodka in my veins. “I don’t have a job anymore– I don’t have anywhere to _live–_ ”

“You stop right there,” he barked jokingly. “You live ‘ere until you’re ready– Free o’ charge!”

“I can’t do that to you, Mi.”

“ _Do it to me_ ?! ‘Ow much fun would we ‘ave?!” I managed a smile at this. He was right, it _would_ be fun. “Besides, I’m leaving to tour with Alex and the boys until at least February– you’ll ‘ave the place to yourself.”

“I don’t have any job– I have no skills,” I covered my face with my hands, leaned on my knees. “Oh my God, Miles, I’m such a fuck up– why did I just give everything up and work for him for four years?”

“Come on tour!” he practically shouted it, the idea hitting him in a split second, his face and voice alight with pride and genius. “You can work the merch table! Job, place to sleep, _fun_! Done and dusted!”

I looked at him, straightened up. “Miles, I can’t come on tour with you I have–”

“Nuffin’! You have _nuffin_ ’, babe,” he shook his head, the alcohol shining behind his eyes as he grinned like a fool. “And it’s _perfect_ ! This’ll be great. We’ll have so much fun with the boys! All over the States– all over the _world_!”

God, I knew this man was my best friend for a reason. I had left my former home with Chris alone, jobless, homeless, depressed, and Miles was now serving me up world travel, companionship, distraction, all on a silver platter. How amazing would it be to escape this break-up and the wreckage of my life for months? To travel far from L.A. and party with my best friend?

“I won’t take no,” he said, throwing back the rest of his vodka. “We leave tomorrow. Pack your bags.”

Our eyes met, and after a beat we both bent over laughing uncontrollably.

My bags, as we knew in a sad and ironic twist of fate, were already packed.

* * *

 I had known Miles for nearly ten years at that point.

We had met in London, when he was new to the Little Flames, we were both eighteen, and I had just moved to England from New York. At the time, my dad was taking a sabbatical from teaching Portuguese Studies at Columbia to write a book, my mom had a brand new showcase at a London gallery, and I was adrift in a new city.

Rather than pursue college, I had decided to take a year off, work on developing a portfolio as a photographer, and then maybe get an internship or apprenticeship when we returned to New York. Instead, I was sucking up London nightlife through a straw, bouncing from bar to concert to club, developing a rough tolerance for any and all alcohol, and a profound love of British boys.

Back then, I wouldn’t know the Little Flames, or Miles Kane, if I tripped over them. And funny enough, that’s exactly what happened one night after one of his own shows, at the lounge where he had performed. I tripped right over his feet– clearly drunk off my ass– in front of his VIP table, smacking my head right into it.

He was the only one who actually got up– albeit laughing– to see if I was all right, to walk me over to the bar and get me ice.

He placed the towel of ice against my head and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Adriana,” I replied, thinking he was hitting on me. I wasn’t particularly attracted to him– he was a little scrawny, a little too Beatles-esque for me– but I was drunk enough and young enough to not care.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“What’s the date?”

I was suddenly confused. Was this how he picked people up? I didn’t respond.

“Aw, feck,” he swore. “You might ‘ave a concussion.”

Oh. He was quizzing me to see if I had a head injury.

I laughed out loud, doubled over, finding the realization hysterical. The electric buzz of alcohol in my blood amplified the humor, and I couldn’t stop, tears streaming down my face as I literally slapped my knee, wheezing. Miles watched me incredulously, smiling, until he started laughing too, until neither of us could stop.

He brought me back to the table, introduced me to everyone, bought me a shot. We talked and laughed and danced for hours, immediately connecting, immediately hitting it off. And when we ended up drunkenly making out by the end of the night, it wasn’t _bad_ , but it was kind of like kissing a second cousin for some reason.

We kept hanging out, and drunkenly hooking up, until we were dating. It made sense. We were so immediately close, immediately best friends, immediately imbedding each other into our lives. And we had the best time, cracking each other up, talking about life, music, art, traveling together. But it couldn’t last. It only took a year for us to admit there was no physical chemistry, no real sexual attraction– despite our best efforts to the contrary– and that we were better off as friends.

And though we had both moved– both of us eventually to L.A.– and gone through different significant others, different career endeavors, drama of our own, we were each a constant in the other’s lives. Miles was always at the end of the phone, if not a car ride away, my best friend and partner in crime. For nearly a decade. And our once physical relationship added a layer of intimacy that wasn’t sexual anymore, but probably closer than most friends– gave us a hold on each other that no one else in our lives had.

I couldn’t say that about many people in my life, and neither could Miles.

Which I guess is why no one objected to my last minute addition to the tour, even though it required the booking of extra hotel rooms and the making of space on the tour bus– both a huge inconvenience.

“Oh, they all think we’re shagging,” he told me– as we settled in with drinks at the United Club at LAX– in response to my concern.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he responded casually. “Not the boys– just management. Old flames or whateva. Hiding it with our separate rooms.”

If it had gotten me onto the tour and out of L.A., I guess I wasn’t about to complain. It’s not like it was the first time this assumption had been made, or that I had a boyfriend to worry about now.

I was just about to make a jab about people needing to imagine a romantic life _for_ him, when his eyes lit up looking over my shoulder, and he shouted, “Al!”

I turned and– though I wasn’t the type of girl to go weak at the knees– seeing Alex Turner and the rest of his bandmates walk across the lounge toward us made my whole body feel like it was on pins and needles. It surprised me, this reaction, although maybe it shouldn’t have, and the weight of memory– of the last time I had seen Alex– flooded my brain, causing it to momentarily short circuit.

Oh, fuck, I hadn’t been expecting that kind of reaction.

I was in trouble.


	2. San Francisco, United States - Two Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When his hand went to my knee, slid down the length of my thigh and rested there, I shivered, craving the human contact I hadn’t felt in months– wanting it from him, wanting more. I had never known him without a girlfriend, and letting myself think about him as someone attainable was intoxicating on its own."
> 
> Adri remembers a night she shared with Alex two years ago, and it reminds her that this tour might be more complicated than she anticipated.

**_San Francisco, United States - Two Years Ago_ **

_ It was a pretty complicated situation, with a lot of obnoxious layers. _

_ Chris and I had decided to take an indefinite break. Months of passive aggressive jibes and acting like celibate roommates had culminated in an inevitable “conversation.” We needed time apart, we needed to see if this relationship was what we wanted. It didn’t matter that we lived together, worked together, or that a break wasn’t really an easy thing to accomplish– especially an indefinite one. For me, at least. When I fought that, insisted on  _ him _ leaving for this break, the conversation turned into an all out fight. Gun slinging, bared teeth, going for the jugular. He stormed out of the house, I packed a bag and left, giving him exactly what he wanted. _

_ When I showed up at Miles’s without even an explanatory text, his face lit up. I could drive to San Francisco, he told me, and hopped right on in my car. _

_ On the way, he explained: Alex and Alexa had broken up nearly a month earlier. Alex was touring, which Miles had hoped would keep him busy, distracted, upright, but Miles wasn’t convinced that was the case. _

_ “He changed his  _ hair _ , Adri.” _

_ I didn’t see the correlation, but Miles seemed to think that it indicated a depressive break or quarter life crisis– the failure to properly deal with his break up. So, he was going to surprise Alex and see the Arctic Monkeys perform in San Francisco, and then he was going to take his best mate out to get properly pissed and get his perfectly coiffed head back on straight. _

_ That’s how we ended up at the Grand Nightclub after midnight with the Arctic Monkeys that night, taking full advantage of the VIP top floor and top shelf bottle service. _

_ Alex, while maybe not exuberant, seemed okay. Being with Miles seemed to bring out a young, playful happiness in him, and after a few hours, Miles didn’t seem as concerned about him. Alex was talking and laughing, dancing like a teenager, and Miles was flirting up a leggy blonde model on the dancefloor. _

_ When the rest of the boys decided to head back to the hotel and call it a night, Alex dropped down beside me at our table. _

_ “D’you think ‘e’ll get lucky?” he asked, his eyes shining and drunk, his new quiff falling into his face as he pointed at Miles and his model. _

_ I laughed. “Of course he will.” _

_ “What do you suppose they’re saying?” _

_ I considered the two for a moment– the way they leaned close together, talking drunkenly, passionately, hooded eyes gazing at one another. _

_ Before I could answer, Alex was mimicking Miles’s voice, pretending to speak for him: “You should shag me tonight, love. I’m pretty much the next John Lennon.” _

_ I laughed, watching them, and then I spoke for the model in an airy, high-pitched voice: “Do you play actual musical instruments?” _

_ “I play them all, babe,” Alex said, hitting Miles’s accent spot on. _

_ “Oh, you’re so smart!” _

_ “My dick is my best instrument of all.” _

_ “Oh! Show me!” _

_ At exactly that moment, they walked onto the dance floor together, disappearing into the crowd, and the timing was so perfect that Alex and I doubled over laughing. _

_ “‘e’s a good one,” Alex said soberly, contentedly, when we had recovered, taking a long drink from his sweaty glass. _

_ “He is,” I agreed. _

_ “Thanks for coming with ‘im,” he said after a beat. _

_ I shook my head, the room swimming in alcohol and too-loud music. “He did me a favor,” I told him. “I sort of had to get away from a break up.” _

_ I wasn’t sure it was a definite break up, but I was still mad enough at Chris that I didn’t care. The anger, mixed with the alcohol, brought tears to my eyes. God, why was my life always a mess? Why were there always pieces needing to be picked up? _

_ Seeing the emotion wash over me, Alex asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” _

_ I wanted nothing more, and when he led me out of the club and back onto the cool, crowded sidewalk, I felt like I could breathe again. _

_ We went back to the hotel– leaving Miles and his model to their devices with a text wishing him good luck– and Alex invited me to his room, to listen to music, to drink some more. It was nearly three in the morning, but the idea of going to Miles’s and my empty room of twin beds, to sit in the dark and stew in my drunken thoughts alone made my skin crawl, so I agreed. _

_ We sat on the floor, side by side against the foot of the bed, a bottle of whiskey and a can of coke beside us, and listened to the Strokes filtering quietly from Alex’s phone on the floor. _

_ We didn’t talk about our mutual heartbreak, though it was obviously sitting in the room with us. Instead, we talked about music, about San Francisco, London, L.A. The whiskey made our words go loose, our eyes glassy, our bodies warm, and we shared the coke between us, limbs flush against one another. _

_ I couldn’t tell if the growing attraction– the chemistry– I was feeling with Alex was just the alcohol and my recent fight with Chris, but the thought of it tumbled in my mind, cartwheeled away, leaving just the feeling. And when his hand went to my knee, slid down the length of my thigh and rested there, I shivered, craving the human contact I hadn’t felt in months– wanting it from him, wanting more. I had never known him without a girlfriend, and letting myself think about him as someone attainable was intoxicating on its own. _

_ “I’ve been thinking about kissing you all night,” he suddenly said, his voice quiet and husky, face turned towards mine in the dim light of the single lamp we had on. _

_ I knew we were past drunk– delirious and sloppy with the slog of alcohol– but I thought I could dissolve at his words– at the electric pins and needles all over my body, the rush of blood that left me breathless. “What are you waiting for?” I asked. _

_ His hand was on my waist immediately, pulling me closer to him on the carpet, lips hot against mine. I grabbed the back of his neck, steadying myself, dizzy at the collision of tongue and teeth. The pressure of want mounted inside of me, made me return the favor when he grabbed at me feverishly, hands finding purchase wherever they could, so clumsy, so drunk. _

_ The Strokes were nearly drowned out by the sound of my heavy breathing, as he moved down to kiss my neck, sucking gently below my ear, along my jawbone, his breath alone driving me wild. He had a hand carefully working its way up my shirt, cupping my breast, and it drove me into his lap, pressing myself against him with a rising need for more. _

_ He lifted me up, legs wrapped around him as he stood, and placed me onto the bed, body flush against mine, dick hard against the front of his jeans. _

_ I pushed at his shirt, helped him pull it off, and had only a moment to admire his naked chest, before he was diving back down, mouth against my neck once more. He worked his way south, pushing the neck of my shirt and bra down, kissing his way gently to my nipples, making me squirm. When he opened his mouth, lips and tongue working more furiously against me, I gasped, skin electrified. _

_ He yanked my shirt off, descended to kiss me again, and the room spun. I cupped the front of his jeans, rubbing gently, until he pulled away from me with a groan, fumbling with his belt and jeans hurriedly, before helping me with my own. We were so drunk, so clumsy, that it took a moment, but once we were divested of all of our clothes, we were rolling around like a couple of teenagers on the hotel bed, the heat and building friction between us threatening to ignite like a firestorm. _

_ He went from groping my breasts, cupping my ass, to working his fingers against my clit without warning, and I let out a harsh breath of pleasure. _

_ “Adri,” he whispered against my lips. “Oh God, I want to fuck you.” _

_ “What are you waiting for?” I practically whined as he slipped a finger inside of me. _

_ He took his time, making me squirm against the pillows, until I was climbing on top of him, trapping him between my legs. He gazed up at me in wonder, and even in my own state of drunkenness, I could see how far gone he was too, but I didn’t care– it felt too good, the consequences dissolving immediately in my brain. _

_ I didn’t wait for permission, I lowered myself onto him slowly, making him groan, making him throw his head back into the pillows. _

_ I ground against him with his dick inside of me, felt a hot thrill in watching his drunken eyes flutter in pleasure. _

_ “Oh God, you feel so good,” he huffed, hands traveling up my thighs to clutch at my waist, eyes hooded and intent. _

_ Working myself up and down on top of him, I felt my blood rising, crashing through my veins with the crackle of fire. I thought for sure I would climax just from the rhythm we were creating, from the look in his eyes, but then he was grabbing me to him, rolling us over with him still inside of me, so that he came out on top. _

_ He drove himself deeper inside of me, diving down to kiss me hard, furiously. I moaned into his mouth from the new angle, the peak of heat at the new spot he hit. And then his fingers were between us as he thrust, pressing against my clit, and I cried out against my will, arching against him, vision going white as I rose to meet the peaking pleasure, room still spinning deliciously from the drunken high. _

_ He thrust harder, fingers working more intently, until my whole body began to tighten, began to shake apart, and I was crashing into my orgasm with a white hot rush, from where we connected to the ends of my body. I convulsed against my control, bucked against him in reaction, making him curse and falter. He held on until I was quiet underneath him, and he rode out his own orgasm immediately, pulling out at the last minute, shouting one last curse before the room filled with only the sounds of our rough breathing.   _

_ I don’t remember much after that. We both fell asleep almost immediately, the Strokes singing us to unconsciousness. And when I woke up in the early hours of the morning, I snuck out of his room, back to my own, where Miles still hadn’t even returned. _

_ Later, when I saw him again in the bright light of day, when we all got breakfast before Miles and I had to get back on the road for L.A., and the band had to continue on tour, it was as if nothing had ever happened. There wasn’t a single lingering look or knowing smile. He had probably been too drunk to remember. And, sober, I realized that this was for the best. I didn’t know how Miles would take it, didn’t even know how I felt about it, didn’t want to find out. Chris and I made up several days later besides, got back together against both of our better judgements. And I didn’t see Alex for two years after that, so the whole thing was genuinely forgotten. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. New York City, United States

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We were quiet for the rest of the ride, the tension in my gut making my heart pound, and we walked into the hotel silently as well. It wasn’t until we reached my room, when he walked me right up to my door in the quiet, empty hallway, that he even acknowledged my presence again. 
> 
> 'You didn't forget San Francisco, did you?'" 
> 
> Adri and Alex finally acknowledge the last time they saw each other.

**New York City, United States**

My first night at the merch table passed in a blur. Webster Hall was a dark, close venue, and the New York crowd was flocking for material goods before and after the show. I hadn’t worked retail in some time, but I picked up the rhythm quickly enough, hustling t-shirts and money until the customers trickled down, and I could pause.

One of the bartenders at the venue took pity on me and comped me a vodka soda, so I sat and sipped it, listening to Miles, and then the Arctic Monkeys perform, sifting through my thoughts.

Alex hadn’t acted any differently towards me at the airport, or upon arriving in New York. Instead, he seemed much the same as before San Francisco, when he knew me only as the best friend of his best friend– friendly, open, warm. It was such a casual, normal exterior, that I knew he didn’t remember our encounter, or take it very seriously. We had both been so drunk, it wasn’t surprising and, again, for the best.

My body, however, definitely had some kind of muscle memory for that night, because I was physically reacting to his presence against my will– skin rising with goosebumps, thighs clenched against the rush of blood at the sight of his smile. The whole plane ride, sitting next to Miles as he napped, I kept replaying my drunken memories from that hotel room, and I had to squash it all down, work to forget it.

I had been doing a good job until I was sitting behind the merch table at Webster Hall, watching the show on the TV monitor in the lobby. I listened to Alex sing about knocking boots, calling people while high, and I absently wondered who he was singing about. The stories had to be real– the words based on experience– and I felt my fingers twitch with unwanted arousal.

So he had been living a glorious, single life chasing women since Alexa. Or was he now dating someone new?

“Bug!”

Miles was suddenly sashaying into the lobby, sweaty and smiling, a plastic cup of beer in each hand.

He handed me one and asked, “‘ow’d it go? You sell the shite out of my stuff?”

“Were people supposed to  _ pay _ for the stuff?” I countered, feigning horror, shaking Alex Turner from my thoughts all together.

He pointed a finger gun at me and took a shot. “You ready for the after party, babe?”

“Why do you think I’m here? It’s sure not to sell your t-shirts.”

“‘Ope you’re ready for the piss up we’re about to ‘ave.”

As it turned out, I wasn’t.

I was sweaty and tired when I left Webster Hall– was the one who had to spend an hour helping pack up the remaining merchandise before it could be loaded onto the trucks for our next venue. The boys, however, had been able to freshen up, have a drink, regroup.

It was around midnight when we got to 1 Oak, and when I saw the line snaking around the block, the intense-looking bouncers, I was worried they wouldn’t let me in. I hadn’t changed out of my black, tattered jeans and converse, or my worn Rolling Stones t-shirt after the concert– hadn’t had time. But with Miles dressed in a suit, sunglasses on at night, his arm slung around me, it wasn’t a problem.

The music was immediately making my skull vibrate when we walked in, beautiful bodies crushed against one another on the floor. But we had our own table, our own VIP booth, and I fell in next to Miles in the dark, immediately plied with alcohol.

“Just like the old days, yeah?” Miles yelled over the music, referring to our days of romping from club to club around London.

I nodded, but the music and the flashing lights and the heat of bodies didn’t seem to suit my mood all of a sudden.

Across the banquette booth, Alex was chatting with a gorgeous blonde in a tight, body-hugging dress, Matt and Jamie had begun laughing with Miles, and I was starting to feel out of place. I sucked my drink down, poured myself another.

Absently, out of habit, I wondered what Chris was doing. It was only ten in California, but it was a Monday. He was probably home, sitting on the couch watching TV or something. Maybe the new girl was watching with him, so many of my personal belongings still scattered around the familiar house around her.

“Ah no,” Miles suddenly said to me. “Enough o’ that.”

“What?”

“I can see it in your eyes,” he said. “Stop feelin’ sorry for yourself.”

I took a heavy drink from my glass, rolled my eyes at him.

“Lads,” he yelled to the band, bringing them all to attention, ripping Alex from his blonde. “Adri ‘ere is goin’ through a break up. I think she needs our support with a round o’ shots, yeah?”

Alex met my eyes for the briefest moment, and I had the urge to hit Miles, but Matt was already motioning for a hostess and ordering a round of Irish Car Bombs.

“To Adri,” Matt toasted when we had our glasses in hand. “Who ‘as no idea what she’s gotten ‘erself into coming on tour with us!”

We each dropped our shot glasses into the pint mugs, chugged them down. Of course, being the American girl, I finished last, their raucous laughter and whistles surrounding me as I came back up for air. I could feel the foam coating my upper lip, the room sway from the immediate bombardment of alcohol into my brain.

Miles clapped my back and ordered me another drink, and I looked up, licking the foam off my lip, to see Alex watching me. He smirked, and I felt every nerve ending in my body come alive, before he turned, responding to something Nick was saying.

One drink later, Miles and Alex were on the floor together, dancing and singing like it was there twenty year high school reunion, and I felt a sudden clench of anxiety in my stomach. I had pushed down the guilt, the possible betrayal, of my one night stand with Alex for two years, but it was coming back now. How would Miles feel if he knew? Would he be hurt? Would he be mad at me? At Alex?

I finished my drink. It didn’t matter. It was in the past. I was newly single and going to stay that way, was going to enjoy the tour and piece my life back together– better than before.

One drink after that, I was ready for bed. The noise and lights, and the heaviness of the crowd were making me feel claustrophobic, and the fatigue of travel was catching up to me. Miles and the boys were just getting started, so I tried to sneak away, slinking out the door and onto the sidewalk with a classic Irish goodbye.

At the curb, I peered down the street, unable to focus on any single car with the alcohol flooding my eyes. When I saw yellow, I went to raise my hand for the cab, but a voice stopped me.

“Thought you’d sneak off?”

Turning, I saw Alex standing only a foot away, hair falling into his eyes, hands shoved into his pockets.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” I said, chagrinned. “It’s been a long couple of days. I think I need to call it a night.”

“I’ll come with you.”

I could feel a pulse all over my body suddenly, but I shook it off, saying, “Oh no, that’s okay– you don’t–”

But he was already hailing a cab, opening the door for me and waiting.

I scrambled into the backseat and he slid in behind me, filling my head with the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke and cologne. He gave the driver the name of our hotel, and we both sat back, quiet.

It felt like there was a current of electric energy, charged and crackling between us, and I had to remind myself that he probably didn’t remember that night– that this was a one-sided flashback feeling. But the memory of his hands on my breasts, inside me, made me feel embarrassed– as if I was violating him for just thinking about it.

“I didn’t know about you and your boyfriend,” he said suddenly, his voice sounding too loud in the close space of the cab.

I looked at him, surprised, and replied dumbly, “It just happened.”

“I wondered why you came along with Miles,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah,” I nodded, licked my lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I needed to get away for a little.”

We were quiet for the rest of the ride, the tension in my gut making my heart pound, and walked into the hotel silently as well. It wasn’t until we reached my room, when he walked me right up to my door in the quiet, empty hallway, that he even acknowledged my presence again.

It was when I had my key card out, was unlocking my door, that he had a hand on my wrist, making me turn. I had no time to react, before he was snaking an arm around my waist, pulling me to him, kissing me.

My mouth fell open immediately– partly in shock– and his tongue was exploring my lips, my own tongue, fighting for control. Brain clouded with alcohol and disbelief, desire, I grabbed his shirt to keep upright, his hands trailing down to cup my ass.

I could feel him going slightly hard against me, was sure he was going to invite himself into my room, when he pulled away.

“You didn’t forget San Francisco, did you?” he asked quietly, the cockiest smirk adorning his beautiful, wet lips.


	4. Atlanta, United States

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought of Miles, I thought of how little I actually knew of Alex aside from what I had heard from mutual friends or the internet. I thought about the shitty relationship I had only just gotten out of, I thought about how an actual relationship between the two of us would probably never work. I thought of a million valid reasons for why we shouldn’t do what we were about to do, and then I forgot about every single one of them– just from the look in Alex’s eyes."
> 
> Adri and Alex reconnect in Atlanta.

**Atlanta, United States**

We spent three days in the tour bus after New York, with shows in Boston and Philadelphia before the long trek to Georgia for a music festival. On the way, I learned about how gross guys can be when they don’t care what a girl thinks about them, about the importance of a real shower in a real bathroom, and how much I genuinely loved greasy food on the road. I also learned all the ways someone can just look at you and practically make you wet, which was more of an inconvenience than I was willing to admit, and was all that Alex was doing since our hotel encounter.

I had responded to his question– about the possibility of my forgetting San Francisco– with a dumbstruck “no” in New York, hands still pressed against his chest, his still clutching at my waist.

He had kissed me again then, slow, careful, and then released me, walked away without another word, and I had stumbled into my hotel room and taken a cold fucking shower.

Two shows later and he hadn’t spoken to me since, just kept looking at me, smirking at me, finding moments to stand close to me and graze my body with the lightest touch, and it was driving me up a fucking wall. But, as we entered Atlanta the morning before the festival, I could have cared less if he was playing with me, I was only focused on one thing: the beautiful, long shower I was about to take.

We had a night off in Atlanta, a night to sleep in a hotel and regroup before the festival– which Miles and I didn’t even need to work– and I was looking forward to the two days of relaxation and music, and some quality time with my best friend at a festival we’d never been to.

The quiet and privacy of the hotel room– after days on a noisy, crowded tour bus– was almost as delicious as the hot shower I took once alone. The water washed away the fatigue and soreness from bus travel, woke me up and made me feel refreshed. Even though it was hotel shampoo and soap, they were the equivalent of a luxury spa for me at that moment. And when I towel dried my hair, pulled on just a baggy t-shirt, cranked the air conditioning, and crawled into the clean sheets of the bed, I smiled against the pillows as I thought about the grade-A nap I was about to take.

And then there was a knock at my door.

There was no doubt in my mind it was Miles, so I threw back the covers and went to the door without even putting pants on– the t-shirt I was wearing was practically a dress it was so big anyway– and threw it open.

And, of course, it wasn’t Miles. It was Alex.

He smiled crookedly, looked me up and down once before saying, “Can I come in?”

I was suddenly wide awake, whole body immediately alive with fizzling energy. I stepped aside for him to come in, closing the door behind him.

He sat on the edge of my bed, looking casual and comfortable in his t-shirt and jeans, glancing around the hotel room, at my rumpled bedding.

I sat next to him, not knowing what else to do with myself, and he met my eyes.

“What’s up?” I finally asked, because he wasn’t saying anything, just staring at me as we sat on the bed, air conditioner humming across the room. I thought I was going to disintegrate from the anticipation, from the feeling of my body on edge, waiting for him, and I didn’t like this power he had over me– that no one had ever had over me.

“I didn’t want you to think I only kissed you because I was pissed,” he replied.

I hadn’t been expecting that response, and I didn’t know what to say in return, so I waited.

“Two years ago,” he was saying, “in San Francisco– I know we were pissed, and both ‘eartbroken– but I’ve thought about you since.”

Despite how much I had been thinking about it, It seemed like a lifetime ago, so the fact that in the interim he had thought about me at all– in all his escapades that had made the writing of  _ AM _ possible, while I was in the midst of a floundering relationship and not even tangentially in his life– shocked me.

“It seemed too good to be true– that you were ‘ere with Miles now.”

I held my breath at his words, heart beating so hard I’m sure it could be heard over the air conditioner. I wanted so badly for him to kiss me, to touch me at all, and also didn’t know what it would mean if he did.

He leaned in then, so close to me I could feel the breath of his words as he whispered, “I’m goin’ to kiss you again.”

And he did, closing the space between us, mouth opening against mine immediately, searching. I kissed him back hungrily, days of arousal and want, just thinking about him, just being around him, making me breathless when he actually touched me.

Our lips were furious with need right away, tongues working desperately, but when he snaked an arm around me, pulled me toward him, I stopped short.

“Alex,” I breathed, hands pressed to his chest, trying to restrain myself from diving back in immediately. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asked, eyes staring hungrily at my lips, hazy.

I thought of Miles, I thought of how little I actually knew of Alex aside from what I had heard from mutual friends or the internet. I thought about the shitty relationship I had only just gotten out of, I thought about how an actual relationship between the two of us would probably never work. I thought of a million valid reasons for why we shouldn’t do what we were about to do, and then I forgot about every single one of them– just from the look in Alex’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” I finally whispered in response, and he immediately grabbed the back of my neck, pulled me in to kiss him once more.

It had been years since I had felt someone insistent on having me, someone who reciprocated the throb of desire I felt for him, and it made me lightheaded as Alex pulled me directly into his lap, undressed me entirely, looked at my naked body hungrily, and I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as the space between us lessened.

His mouth was on my neck, sucking gently at my skin, sending chills down my spine, and I yanked his shirt off, running my hands down his warm, smooth chest. He had me down on the bed, pinned under him in the messy bedding, without warning, both of my legs up on either side of his body as he kissed a trail from neck to breast, cupping both of them gently, squeezing, as his mouth briefly closed around each nipple, making me gasp.

When I began to undo his belt he ground against me, hard between my legs, and I let out a breathless laugh at the heat that sparked wherever he touched. With his pants unbuttoned, I slipped a hand beneath the zipper, grasping his dick in his underwear, making him release a hot breath back into my mouth as he kissed me once more.

He quickly obliged when I pushed at his pants, shedding them, as well as his underwear, our naked bodies hot against one another in moments.

I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t form a coherent idea in my brain other than what he was doing, what was happening between us, and even that was sending my brain skittering against logic, leaving only sensation, only the feeling of heat and longing between us. It was because of this– the total immersion in the moment– that I was shocked when his fingers found my clit, began to rub against me in just the right way.

Chills ran the length of my body, down each of my limbs, making me moan quietly, arch against him, and he smiled in response.

“D’you like that?” he asked.

My eyes fluttered shut, and I nodded reverently when he picked up his rhythm, responding to each breath, each sound, each slight movement of my body. Everything was hot and cold with pleasure, each nerve ending short circuiting as he breathed into my ear, saying my name as he sent me closer and closer to the edge. He didn’t slow, didn’t falter, when he slipped a finger inside of me, and then another, making me cry out and grip him tightly to me with one arm.

“Oh, fuck,” I hissed as he persisted, that beautiful smirk of his– the way his hair fell into his eyes as he concentrated solely on getting me off– making my whole body tighten, electrify.

Waves of orgasm crashed over me without warning, and he swallowed the series of cries I emitted with his mouth, kissing me more insistently. When I relaxed against the pillows, spent, my eyes fluttered open, and he was pulling on a condom.

“Oh,” I smirked, cocking an eyebrow. “Someone was  _ expecting _ to get lucky.”

He swooped down to kiss me, smiling, and said, “Was I wrong to hope?”

His dick was pressed against me, waiting for my say so, and I shook my head, ready for more already, desperate once more. He eased himself inside of me, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out again as he slid back slowly, and then further into me.

He leaned down, thrusting more quickly, cheek pressed to my own. My nails dug into the flesh of his back as he picked up speed and pressure, making me see sparks of light behind my eyelids.

He was whispering senselessly into my ear, saying my name, cursing, calling me beautiful, and his loss of coherency was enough to make my blood rush near to climax, making me whimper and gasp with each wave of pleasure.

As he built his own rhythm, rising to his own release, the sounds, the sight of his loss of control, made me come again, tightening around him, making him come with a shouted curse in turn. He groaned as he finished then, collapsing against me, and I could feel his heart pounding against my own chest.

When he rolled to the side, both of us lying on our backs and staring at the ceiling, I felt I could fall asleep like that– his sweaty body next to mine, content.

It was a few minutes before he sat up, planted the softest kiss on my shoulder, and stood, turning his back to me to get rid of the condom and pull his boxer briefs back on.

I pulled one of the cool, white sheets over my body, sat up against the pillows, feeling the euphoria of orgasm slowly, unfortunately, replaced with reality. In just his underwear, he laid back down next to me, a hand tickling the length of my arm gently.

“You’ve soft skin.”

He said it quietly, so sweetly, that I knew I had to say something– had to shatter the illusion.

“Alex,” I said, sitting up even straighter. “What a– What is this?”

He looked surprised, speechless, and he didn’t say anything right away.

“I don’t mean– I’m not asking you if you want a relationship,” I amended. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He watched me as I spoke, taking in my words without any reaction.

“What I mean is– What about Miles?”

A moment of fear flashed across his face when he asked, “You and Miles aren’t–?”

“No!” I cut across him. “No, I just meant– both of us being his best friends. That I used to be with him.” Alex relaxed, and I told him: “He’s hated every guy I’ve ever been involved with.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem,” he replied. “He’s my best mate.”

“What about San Francisco?”

He paused, considered this, then asked, “What about it?”

“You never told him, did you?”

“No.”

“If we did tell him– about any of this,” I began, circling around anxiety as the reality fleshed itself out in full color in my brain. “Don’t you think he would be hurt?”

“I don’t know.”

Truly, I didn’t either, but I didn’t want to take the risk. This was the kind of thing that broke people– ruined friendships– wasn’t it?

“At the very least, don’t you think things would be weird?” I went on, following the thread of each crisis as it spun itself in my brain. “Like he would suddenly feel like the third wheel around us? Like everyone on this tour would feel weird?”

He ran a hand through his quiff, finally saying, “I take your point.”

We sat in silence for a moment, ruminating on this.

“So we don’t tell anyone,” he said. “If it’s nothing serious– If this is just sex– No one needs to know– Miles doesn’t need to know.”

I looked at him, unconvinced.

“I don’t want to hurt ‘im any more than you do,” he went on. “He’s my best mate.” I stared at him for a moment, watching the wheels turn behind his eyes. But then he was smiling, his voice gruff as he said, “But I don’t think I can stay away from you either,” and he was kissing me, and I knew I agreed, and we didn’t talk about it any more for the moment.

* * *

 

When Miles and I went to the festival the next day, I felt the guilt in my stomach like an anvil. We drank ourselves silly, and bounced from stage to stage, revelling in our lack of responsibilities and nostalgia for days past. And when we watched the Arctic Monkeys perform, just standing amongst the crowd with our beers, Miles’s eyes were alight. I couldn’t remember seeing him as happy as when he was on tour with Alex, hanging out with Alex, and it twisted my insides not knowing how he would feel about Alex and me. 

“Isn’t ‘e bloody brilliant?” he yelled over the music to me, watching Alex strike the opening chords for ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor’.

My guilt had been overtaken by Alex– working the crowd, looking so polished and beautiful in his fifties era t-shirt, taking all the girls screaming for him in stride, playing the guitar and owning the stage with confidence, like it was an effortless endeavor.

“Yes.”

“Have you got a crush, Adri?”

I snapped out of my thoughts to look at Miles, but he was smiling– laughing in fact. “I don’t blame ya,” he joked. “E’s a right stud!”

And then he was taking my hand, twirling me around in the grass, swinging his hips like a teenage girl, and I forgot about anything except having fun with my best friend.


	5. Oakland, United States

**Oakland, United States**

We were in Oakland for two shows when my ex Chris texted me.

**_I put the rest of your stuff in some boxes. Not sure if you want to come by to get them or see if I missed anything_ **

We had gotten into town a day earlier than the shows, and had checked into the hotel which was right on the water, right near Jack London Square. My plan had been to go into San Francisco for the day, be a tourist by myself, take some pictures, but Chris’s text threw me off kilter.

I wandered outside, feeling inexplicably flustered, hair still slightly damp from a shower, and walked along the boardwalk behind the hotel. When I stopped and leaned against the railing, looking out over the bay, the noon sun warmed my face, and a fervent wind whipped my hair back.

Of course Chris wanted the rest of my things out of the house. It wasn’t mean, it was him wanting to fully move on with his life, start fresh. He didn’t know where I was or what I was doing, but he had done me a favor by extricating all of my things from where they were embedded into his life, and putting them in boxes. I couldn’t imagine walking around our shared home like a ghost, undoing the years of living I had done there, piece by tiny piece– couldn’t imagine the deliberation over things we had bought together, that weren’t so obviously  _ mine _ or  _ his _ .

The thought of it– of all those years of building a life together for nothing– made my chest tight, and I took a deep breath of salty air.

We would be back in Los Angeles in three days, for just under a week before we had to leave for Austin. I would get my stuff then, rip the bandaid off, and then store everything at Miles's until I could get my own place.

I took a deep and shaky breath, when I heard someone call my name down the boardwalk.

“Alex,” I said, surprised. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a walk,” he shrugged, walking right up to me and leaning against the railing as well, bicep flush against mine. “You look pensive.”

I grimaced.

“Uh oh,” he said. “Boy drama?”

I shook my head and said: “A text from my ex– asking if I want to get the rest of my stuff. It’s just weird.”

“‘Ow long were you together?”

“Four years,” I replied. “With plenty of  _ breaks _ in between. Like when I was in San Francisco.”

“ _Ah_.”

“It was bad for a while,” I told him. “I probably shouldn’t feel so weird about it ending.”

“Well, things are different,” he said. “It’s bound to be weird.”

“Yeah.”

We were silent, staring out across the water, and I felt so melancholy and preoccupied– so goddamned cliché– that I wanted to puke.

“‘Ey,” he turned to me with a smile. “You want to get summat to eat?”

Very much wanting a distraction, and pizza, I agreed.

We didn’t have to walk very far from the hotel before stumbling on a pizza bar on the square, just opening for lunch. We were the only ones there at first when we grabbed a table on the back patio, right on the water.

It was only noon but we both got a beer, and then split a “Fat Boy” pizza– one with tons of toppings and cheese– looking out over the boats in the marina nearby.

“Can I ask you summat?” Alex asked, once he had taken his first giant bite of pizza and swallowed. I waited, he continued: “Why didn’t you and Miles work out?”

I sipped my beer, and replied, “Honestly? It was like fucking my brother.”

He momentarily choked on his pizza. It took a glug of beer and some deep breaths for him to recover.

I shrugged, saying, “He’s always been my absolute best friend, but we just didn’t have _that_ kind of chemistry. Believe me, both of our lives would be a lot easier if we felt that way. And we tried– I mean, we were together for a year– but it just didn’t click like that.”

Alex chewed thoughtfully, considered this, and then asked, “You sure ‘e feels that way too? You said ‘e didn’t like any of your boyfriends– Maybe ‘e’s jealous.”

I shook my head. “He was the one who brought it up first.”

I remembered the conversation. I had been recovering from the flu, holed up in my parents’ London townhouse while they attended some benefit for an endangered species. My illness had me sleeping all day and up all night, watching old Hollywood movies in my bathrobe, tissues and water bottles strewn around me. It was nearly midnight and my parents still weren’t home, so when someone started banging on the front door downstairs, halfway into  _ Funny Face _ , I thought I was going to get murdered.

And then I heard him– Miles’s distinct, drunken voice, wailing my name– and I rushed to let him in before my parents’ neighbors called Scotland Yard.

He practically fell into the front hallway, gripping me to stay upright, and I was still so lightheaded and sick that we nearly toppled over together.

“Miles, what the fuck?” I asked, congested and bleary.

“Babe– Babe– Babe,” he said, absolutely drunk out of his mind, swaying on his feet. “I ‘ad to see you.”

“Miles, I’m  _ sick _ .”

“Shite,” he shook his head, stumbled his way into the living room, guiding me to the couch as if he intended to take care of me. “I’m sorry– I just ‘ad to talk to ya.”

“It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” I countered, suddenly nervous.

“No,” he shook his head again, looking for a moment like he might burp, or throw up. He swallowed hard, tried to focus his eyes and meet mine, and said, “This is important.”

“What?” I thought he might tell me he had cheated, or was gay, or wanted to get married, and a lump began to form in my throat. 

“Babe,” he said. “I feel like there’s no _spark_ between us.”

All at once, I felt worse, but also relieved. It’s never easy to hear something like that, but I had also been feeling the exact same way for months.

“Like,” he went on, slurring, practically falling over as he leaned towards me. “I feel like you’re my sister– Not my girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he sounded drunkenly– dramatically– perplexed. “I love ya, babe, you know that– more than anyone in the world– but I don’t want to fuck ya.”

I stared at him.

“Oh, Jesus,” he practically shouted, making me jump. “What a fuckin’ ting to say! I’m such a bleedin’ knob!”

I almost laughed at his distress– at the drunken mess he was making.

Instead, I said, “Miles, it’s fine. Really.”

“No,” he waved me away, swaying deliriously. “You’re beautiful– and sexy– I just don’t…”

“Miles,” I stopped him, putting a hand on his leg. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“You’re my best friend,” I said. “But it feels like there’s something missing.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the sound of my parents’ clock on the mantle, the sound of my flu-induced mouth breathing.

Finally, I asked, “Do you want to break up?"

He looked so sad all of a sudden, and he met my eyes, said: “I don’t know.”

I understood his hesitation– I was feeling it too. While I didn’t feel any physical attraction to him, Miles had become my best friend– an integral part of my life– and the idea of losing him made me feel physically sick. More so than I already actually was. 

“Maybe it’s just rough patch,” he said brightly. “We’ll try ‘arder.”

Part of me wanted to say that I didn’t think it was right that we had to “try” at all in this department at our age, but he was suddenly giggling to himself.

“Try ‘arder,” he laughed. “No pun intended, love.”

I couldn’t help but start laughing too.

But we did try harder. As much as we could, anyway. Meaning, we bought the kamasutra, tried to have sex more often, tried to talk about our feelings, and considered therapy. But we always ended up laughing like idiots, unable to actually get each other turned on– or get each other off– and the spark never ignited like we wanted it to. So we lasted a couple more months, and then called it quits, but managed to salvage the best parts of our relationship moving forward.

Alex looked surprised as I gave him the watered down version of this story, as we finished our meal and paid the check, but he nodded when I was done.

“Somehow, he still thinks he’s the best boyfriend I've ever had,” I joked with a shrug.

“Isn’t ‘e though?”

I considered this. “Actually, yes.”

It was funny, because it was Miles– who was amazing, but who I couldn’t have sex with even if I tried– but it made me sad. My best boyfriend was the one I had no physical connection with. Every single one of my relationships had failed.

Alex saw me slide straight back into melancholia and he acted quickly.

“Do you want to do something fun?” he asked, leaning towards me with a whisper.

He had a cocky, mischievous smirk on his face, and he gazed at me– licked his lips sensually– and my skin prickled in anticipation.

“‘Ave you ever shagged someone in a loo?”

Maybe it should have offended me. Maybe I should have been turned off, grossed out, insulted by the idea of someone wanting to fuck me in a bathroom. But it didn’t. Instead, I felt my blood rush at his words, at the look in his eyes, and I shook my head wordlessly.

He took my hand across the table and stood up, led me inside the restaurant, making a beeline for the bathroom across the nearly-empty dining room. He opened the door of one of the two single bathrooms, and pulled me inside, locking the door behind us.

My heart was pounding as he walked me up against the wall, right next to the hand dryer, mouth already on my own as his hands clutched at my waist.

He pushed his body against mine, my skin tingling with sudden chills, and his tongue wrestled its way between my lips. I could feel him going hard, was feeling an intense rush of blood myself, and with each rising moment I wanted more, began clutching at his body– wanting all of him.

I went to undo his belt, but his hands were on my breasts, his breath hot against my lips, my neck, my ear as he whispered, “Miles must be out of ‘is mind.”

It made me smirk against him, and he unbuttoned my jeans, slid a hand against me, beneath the fabric of my underwear. He teased me, moving softly, slowly, featherlight against my skin, and I panted into his mouth when he went back to kiss me. It made him smile, made him suck on my lip, made him finally pick up his rhythm.

Against the wall of the bathroom, I forgot where we were. I practically blacked out from the rush of my blood, the throb of my pulse, the feeling of his skin, his body, hot against mine. And when I finally undid his belt, his jeans, and pulled his pants down just enough to free him up for me, I thought my brain would short circuit completely.

My jeans were down in moments, his dick pressed against me, and I let out a harsh breath at the feeling of it– at the feverish rush of desire in his hands all over me. And then he grabbed himself, poised his dick between my legs, and he watched me squirm against the wall, peaking into oblivion.

“Alex,” I growled, watching him smile, thoroughly enjoying himself.

And then he was slowly– agonizingly slow– easing himself into me, fingers pressing against my clit at the same time, and a soft cry built in my throat, came out like a weak whimper. He thrust into me harder, faster, groaning in pleasure, pulling one of my legs up to wrap around him. His eyes were hazy with want, and his lip curled back in a smile as I leaned my head back against the wall, heat rising with his movements, my whole body clutching in anticipation.

He groaned my name, mouth descending on mine, and he thrust harder still, my body rising further against his touch– and with each thrust I got closer and closer, until the heat blotted out anything else, my orgasm spreading over me like a wildfire.

He didn’t stop, and it was pleasure bordering on pain as I rode out my orgasm and relaxed, until he was pulling out with a curse himself, crash landing into his own finish.

Moments later, when we were both adjusting our clothes, smoothing our hair, wiping our mouths, Alex grabbed me suddenly and kissed me once more. And when he pulled away, he said, “Miles really is out of ‘is bloody mind,” before going back outside.

It was a small thing– the kiss, his comment– but it made me grin like a fool.


	6. Los Angeles, United States - Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not longer after, we both went back to the party, staggering our returns so that we didn’t reappear together. And when we sat around the fire, joining the drinking game that was already in progress, Alex kept meeting my eyes, and it felt like he had never stopped touching me– like our bodies were still connected by the heat between us."
> 
> Returning to Los Angeles proves to be eventful for Adri. In more ways than one.

**Los Angeles, United States - Again**

Miles came with me to get my stuff when we got back to L.A. We had one day off before the first show back in town, and he insisted on helping me get everything– made a joke about me being too weak to carry all the boxes by myself. I knew he was just insisting on providing the moral support whether I wanted it or not– the layer of protection in case I bumped into Chris– and I was grateful for his presence.

My hands shook as I unlocked the front door, heart pounding like I was in a sad horror movie. But Chris wasn’t home– told me he would be at work all day and to take my time.

Walking through the house felt as strange as I thought it would– like I was a stranger in my own home. Trespassing in a space that wasn’t even my own anymore. Luckily, Chris hadn’t missed much. He had erred on the side of caution, had packed everything that was mine, and most of the things that we had bought together– that could be considered his as well. Aside from the TV, and other major appliances or decorative pieces, he had been generous.

The boxes were waiting near the front door, but Miles didn’t touch them right away. Instead, he followed me throughout the house like a loyal dog, silent, waiting for me to need him, always close at hand.

My shampoo and conditioner weren’t in the shower, Chris had packed that too. For some reason, _that’s_ what set me off.

I sat on the lid of the toilet and started crying like a baby, the pain and emotion hitting me out of nowhere. Without any kind of build up or fight at all, tears were streaming down my face and I was sobbing like the world was about to end.

Miles knelt in front of me, put his hands on my knees, and said, “Come on, Bug. It’s all right.”

“What is _wrong_ with me, Miles?” I asked, vision watery with tears, snot probably running down my nose like a toddler.

“What’ya mean?” he asked kindly, rubbing my arm, taking my hands in his.

“I mean, why can’t I keep a boyfriend?” I asked. “What’s wrong with me that it never works out?”

He looked heartbroken at my words, and gave my hands a squeeze, saying, “You just ‘aven’t found the right one, Bug. Doesn’t mean you won’t.”

Alex popped into my mind without warning, but I took one of my hands back to wipe my nose on the back of it.

“Actually,” he said, feigning absolute disgust at my actions. “That might be why, love.” 

I laughed out loud despite myself, and he handed me a wad of toilet paper to dry my face.

“Someday you’ll find someone better than me,” he told me cheekily. “And then you’ll know he’s the one.”

I laughed again, shook my head and said, “You’re an ass.”

He smiled at me, hands still on my knees, and we were silent for several minutes.

When I spoke again I was quiet, and I said, “I’m going to miss him.”

“It’s just ‘abit,” he squeezed my knee gently. “It will fade.”

I took a shaky breath, swiped at my face with the toilet paper.

“And if it doesn’t, you can always stay friends,” he nudged me. “We did, didn’t we?”

I rolled my eyes. He knew that was different, but he smiled again.

“Let’s get your stuff, babe,” he said, helping me up. “We got friends coming round tonight. You’re my co-hostess and I will not tolerate a co-hostess covered in bogies.”

* * *

 

As “co-hostess” I didn’t have to do much. 

Miles hadn’t been home since the tour started, so the house was spotless. I shoved all of my things– my suitcases and boxes– into one of his guest rooms and shut the door, finishing the job. We grabbed hamburgers and hot dogs, bags of chips, and a ton of alcohol, on our way home from Chris’s, and we were pretty much done.

The sun was setting, and Miles began grilling food in his swimming trunks and a silken robe, drinking vodka sodas and blasting Velvet Underground, so I threw on a bikini and jumped into the pool as people began arriving– most of them already drunk, most of them complete strangers to me– and my co-hosting duties completely died on the vine. Miles was host enough for both of us, so I drifted in and out of the water– people jumping in and floating around me– even when it grew dark.

Alex and the boys arrived around nine.

I watched from the water, lit by the bright pool lights, as they ate hamburgers and drank beer, laughing around Miles’s firepit, casual in t-shirts and jeans. Alex’s quiff was coming undone, flopping against his forehead, and I could feel his half-cocked smile from across the yard. He made eye contact with me once, twice, smiled at me, gave me a slight nod, and I floated away, on my back, staring at the starry night sky, buzzing on whiskey and coke.

“All right, doll?”

I turned my head slightly, and Alex was at the edge of the pool. He was smiling, and I smiled back, my ears partially submerged in water, still floating on my back.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said softly, just for me, and his eyes roamed my white bikini, my body head to toe.

A flashbulb memory of our tryst in the bathroom– pressed up against the tile wall, his fingers between my legs, his tongue messy and perfect against my own– made my face go hot, my heart skip a beat, but I knew he couldn’t tell in the dark of the yard.

“Hello, stranger,” I said, the Pixies’ “Debaser” playing through the outdoor speaker, over my words for the rest of the guests.

I turned over in the water and swam to the pool's edge, hung off the side with my arms on the flagstone, Alex sitting down next to me.

“Miles said ‘e helped you move your stuff today.”

I winced, thinking about my sobbing in the bathroom, Miles comforting me.

“That bad?”  

I shook my head, shrugging. “Weird.”

He rubbed a crooked finger against my wet arm, discreet but comforting.

“Can I get you another drink?”

I nodded.

As he refilled my whiskey and coke, I got out of the water and dried off. I pulled on a hoodie and shorts, and sat down with my drink around the firepit, next to Miles. Alex sat across from me– his face flickering with shadows created by the fire– and I tried not to stare at him too long while I sipped my drink.

The conversation turned towards Austin– our next stop on the tour– Nashville, and then Europe. Miles was gushing about being in England again, about bashing around London with me and Alex like we used to.

Miles, Alex, and I never really spent too much time in London together. Miles and I dated before he knew Alex, and then by the time they met and started working together, my parents had moved back to New York and I had gone with them. But there were times over the years that I had gone to England– or elsewhere in the world– to visit Miles or see one of his shows, and had ended up spending a night out with him and Alex, or any number of their friends. 

As Miles and Alex reminisced over old times, laughing with the boys, I was suddenly thinking about the first time I ever met Alex, and I was surprised at home much I had forgotten until now.

Though I was living in New York at the time– still living with my parents as I applied for photography internships, working as an assistant for a friend of my mom’s– I had gone to London to appease Miles, actually.

He and Alex had performed twice in New York City the month before– their first performances as the Last Shadow Puppets– and even though I was living there, I had been in Boston visiting a friend and hadn’t been able to attend either show. In a drunken attempt to assuage Miles’s disappointment, I had video chatted him on his birthday, promising to come to London to see them perform, and to take him out to celebrate.

Now, in April, I was having to follow through.

I attended the charity party and performance at Lock Tavern, and was thoroughly impressed with Miles and his new work with the Arctic Monkeys frontman.

He had been gushing about Alex and the Arctic Monkeys for over a year– a boy crush fully forming over his time touring with them and the Rascals. And his collaboration with Alex had made him nothing short of exuberant about his music again; every time I spoke to him during that time it was a torrent of excitement and inspiration. I had envied this passion for his work, but had been so happy for him. So, to see him perform, to finally see what was setting him ablaze, was worth the thousand dollar flight.

After the charity party, we all went to Bungalow 8 for drinks.

Miles was flying high after the successful performance, and he buzzed around me until he could finally, properly, introduce me to Alex.

I was surprised upon meeting him. The way Miles had spoken about him– was so in awe of him– I had expected someone much older. Instead, he looked like he could be younger than Miles–with his handsome, boyish face, big, brown eyes, and mop of messy hair. He gave me a hug when he met me, told me he had heard so much about me, and offered to buy me a drink.

Truthfully, I developed a crush alarmingly fast. I don’t know if it was all the stored information I had in mind from Miles, or his adorable, crooked smile, or his sweet, boyish warmth and awkwardness, but I was smitten. We talked and joked with Miles, and then alone, over our drinks, and I thought maybe he was flirting with me– that maybe he was interested in me too– and I could feel the pull between us, unfolding before me over the course of the night.

Despite all of this, it was purely coincidental when we bumped into each other behind Bungalow 8– away from the paparazzi– for a cigarette.

He lit mine for me, and then leaned back against the brick wall, just a meter away, blowing smoke into the chilly, early spring air.

“So ‘ow did you meet Miles?” he asked, his voice lazy with alcohol and nonchalance.

“I face-planted into his table after one of his gigs.”

Alex laughed out loud, and my heart could have burst. I was surprised at how quickly I was falling for him– so much so that it nearly took my breath away. Truthfully, I had been sort-of seeing a wanna-be male model and actor in New York– or, really, just drinking and sleeping with him– and I hadn’t felt this kind of immediate attraction or draw to him… ever, actually.

“What do you do then?” he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette, nose turning slightly pink from the cold.

I was trying not to think about kissing his pink nose, about running my fingers through his thick hair, about his beautiful, pales hands on my body, as I answered, saying: “I’m trying to be a photographer.”

“Trying to be?”

I rolled my eyes, flicked ash onto the asphalt below me. “Can’t get an internship. Can’t find a job.”

“Are you good?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged with a smile. “I just love doing it.”

He nodded and said, “Then just keep doing it.”

We stared at one another for a moment, the night dark and cold, our cigarettes creating smokescapes around us. The way he was looking at me, eyes hovering on my lips, I thought maybe he would kiss me. He was smiling faintly, and my blood hummed with anticipation, hope, but then he spoke.

“Miles talks about you quite a bit,” he said. “I think he might have a crush.”

I laughed out loud, smoke escaping from between my lips, and I said, “He’s my ex, actually.”

Alex looked surprised, intrigued, and he joked, “You must ‘ave hit your head quite hard when you met him then?”

The lilt to his voice made me think he was flirting again, and I laughed, shrugged.

“How long are you in London?”

My skin stood on end. Was he going to ask me out?

“Until Tuesday.”

Suddenly, the door into the back of the club was opening, and out of the corner of my eye I saw thin, long limbs, a black dress.

“There you are! Miles said you’d be out here!”

She was kissing Alex before she noticed me, but I saw the look on his face when his eyes landed on her– happy, expectant, in love. When she turned, she looked surprised, but she smiled at me, shook my head.

“Hi, I’m Alexa.”

“Adri,” I returned. “I’m a friend of Miles.”

Her face broke into an even bigger smile, and I was hit over the head with how beautiful she was. She looked elegant and undone in a black dress and tights, gold jewelry adorning her like pinprick constellations. Her bright eyes were lined in black, cat-like, and they were crinkled adorably as she smiled at me, her hair a shaggy, perfect mess. I was drawn to her immediately– how beautiful and effortless she was– and I felt like an absolute ass for even thinking Alex could be interested in  _ me _ , when he was clearly dating her.

Their hands were entwined comfortably as they stood there, and I dropped the rest of my cigarette, crushed it with the toe of my boot.

“I’m think I’m going to get another drink,” I said, needing to get away from them– the level of my own embarrassment, my utter and abject disappointment. “I’ll see you guys in there?”

I had successfully pushed Alex Turner from my mind after that– threw myself into my time with the actor-model, got an internship, eventually moved to L.A. I saw Alex and Alexa a handful of times over the years– always endeared by their relationship, if not jealous I didn’t have anything close to that. He was unattainable, so Alex was no longer an object of infatuation for me– I was good at letting that go on command usually– and he was so clearly happy with Alexa anyway. Until they weren’t, and Miles and I ended up in San Francisco.

Sitting around the fire in Miles’s yard, I found myself suddenly thinking about Alex and Alexa. I wondered how it had ended, why, when they had seemed so perfect for so long. I wondered if he found himself missing her, longing for her, and I felt suddenly sad– as if I was just a placeholder in Alex’s life, was a placeholder in Chris’s, was never the  _ love _ of someone’s life.

Not that I wanted to be the love of Alex’s life, but still.

I said something to Miles about going to the bathroom, and I went inside, refilled my glass with just whiskey, and wandered into my guest room in the house. In the dark, I immediately stumbled into the boxes I had shoved inside, and I let out a stream of drunken, miserable curses, pushing everything out of my way with my foot. I didn’t close the door, didn’t turn on the light, just laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling– sitting up and draining my whiskey sip by sip.

I didn’t know how long I had been inside– the playlist had turned to Radiohead by that point and I was feeling like a melancholy teenager– when I heard someone on the stairs.

I figured it was someone going to the bathroom, wandering around drunk, and then Alex was closing the door, climbing onto my bed, leaning on his forearms, looking down at me.

“Where’d you go?” he whispered.

“Just thinking,” I returned– Alex and Alexa in that alleyway, flashing in my mind.

“What about?”

“Exes,” I replied honestly.

“That’s no good, love,” he chided, combing my hair out of my face with his cool fingers.

I closed my eyes, the room beginning to spin as I relaxed into the whiskey rush, Alex’s calming touch.

“Are you all right?”

“I will be.”

“Come back outside,” he sat up, took my hand.

I liked the quiet, dark of the room, being alone with Alex, so I tugged him back down onto the bed.

“Tell me something,” I whispered.

He smiled, laid back down, on his side this time, and asked, “What do you want me to tell you?”

I shrugged, my blood going hot with Jack Daniels.

He was silent for a while, staring down at me, before he very seriously said: “Did you know George H.W. Bush received a komodo dragon as a gift from Indonesia?”

I was taken so off guard by this tidbit that I laughed out loud, covering my mouth and continuing to laugh against my fingers.

“Where did that come from?”

He shrugged, “You wanted me to tell you summat– you didn’t specify what.”

My laughter subsided, and while he smiled down at me I had such a strong and overwhelming feeling of fondness that I sat up and kissed him. His lips were warm, his tongue tasted like beer, and his hand went to my stomach as he eased me back against the bed.

“How drunk is everybody out there?” I broke apart from him and asked.

“They had all started playing truth or dare when I made an excuse to come inside,” he returned, smiling.

“Good.”

I pulled him to me again, let his weight crush me into the bed, hands splayed against his body, under his shirt, as his tongue became more aggressive against my own. We wrestled on the bed for a moment, fighting to come out on top, groping each other, before he pinned me to the bed, yanked my sweatshirt off.

His mouth pushed aside the material of my bikini, tongue circling my nipple, knee pressing against me between my legs. My skin felt so sensitive, so electric, that my breath caught at the feeling of his mouth on me, as he went from one breast to the other, keeping my wrists pinned on either side of me. He sucked at soft skin, hard, and I arched against him, thinking the rush of blood was already going to send me peeking over the edge, when he stopped, untied my top and threw it to the side.

With my hands finally freed, I pulled his t-shirt off, ran my hands down his smooth, warm chest, but he had plans of his own. He was getting off the bed, standing over me with a heated smirk, his eyes glinting as he pulled off my shorts and bikini bottoms. I held my breath, until he pulled me down the bed, right up to the edge, making me gasp in surprise. And then he was kneeling in front of me, a hand grasping around each thigh, holding me in place.

He moved so slowly– I could feel his breath against the pulse between my legs, for several long, tantalizing seconds– that when he did touch me, it was like an electric shock, his tongue a delicious, hot poker against my clit. I let out a single cry, covered my mouth to keep silent, as his tongue and lips built a rhythm against me, making me writhe in agonizing pleasure. But he never stopped, never faltered, building the pressure, building his speed, until one of my hands was buried in his hair, the other clutching the blanket underneath me, panting into the moonlit room.

I thought I was going to shake apart at his movements– was seeing sparks of blue and white behind my eyes– when he stopped, pressed his body along the length of mine, making me groan.

His fingers took over, slipping inside of me, as his other hand worked to open his jeans.

“How does it feel?” he asked gruffly, into my ear, as his jeans and underwear were pushed down, out of the way, and his dick pressed hot against me.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, trying to remain in control, trying to stay quiet. “ _ Alex _ .”

He took too long, was moving so teasingly slow, driving me so wild, that I grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the bed, climbed on top of him. He had no time to react before I was lowering myself onto him, making his eyelids flicker, his hands grasp my breasts instantly.

I sighed as I ground against him, rolling my hips backward and forward, and he sat up suddenly, hitting a spot that made me let out a cry of pleasure. His eyes were held on mine, and his arm was locked around me, holding me tightly as I continued to move on top of him, our breath mingling as we both panted and spoke senseless whispered fast-strung nonsense.

He kissed me, just as our rhythm reached its heat, as my whole body seized in pleasure, and I came with a wave of warmth, of fire, of sparks and electricity all over my skin, mumbled cries against his lips and teeth, his own orgasm almost immediately.

Not longer after, we both went back to the party, staggering our returns so that we didn’t reappear together. And when we sat around the fire, joining the drinking game that was already in progress, Alex kept meeting my eyes, and it felt like he had never stopped touching me– like our bodies were still connected by the heat between us.


	7. Manchester, England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “'You love your mom, you’re close with her,' I shrugged.
> 
> He looked almost bashful, looking into his drink when he said, 'Of course I am.'
> 
> 'That’s really sweet.'
> 
> He looked up, met my eyes and said: 'If she meddled at all she would ‘ave told me to ask you to marry me tonight.'"
> 
> Alex's parents stop by to say hi during the tour.

**Manchester, England**

Austin and Nashville passed in a blur, and before I knew it, we were boarding a plane for England.

Early in life, I had been lucky enough to travel all over the world with my parents. As a professional academic and an artist, they were able to take huge chunks of time– whether over winter breaks, or for the summer– to rent an apartment or house in another country and work abroad, soak up a new culture, expose me to the world. So I had stayed in pied-a-terres in Paris, villas in Tuscany, townhouses in Cape Town and Brisbane, but nothing felt like England to me.

New York was home, but England was a close second.

I didn’t know if it was the culture, or the time in my life when I lived there, the connections I made, but being in England felt natural–  _ good– _ like taking a breath of fresh air or putting your head on your pillow at night.

So, when we landed in Manchester, it felt a little bit like coming home.

When we got to the hotel it was too early for dinner, too early for drinking, but we were exhausted and jet-lagged– had just spent 11 hours on a plane– so we did what the English do: we had tea.

We got the works: finger sandwiches, scones, cakes, clotted cream, and the strongest, most perfect,  _ true _ English tea. And you would have thought the Arctic Monkeys were too cool to have a fancy English afternoon tea, but they weren’t. Alex mixed his milk and sugar, drank out of his dainty teacup like a pro. He and Miles even very seriously argued over how to eat a scone– cream or jam first.

“You goin’ to see your mum and dad while we’re here?” Miles asked Alex once the scone debate had fizzled out without a winner. 

Alex nodded. “I’m takin’ them for lunch tomorrow– they’ll be at the show.”

“Ad,” Miles said, jutting his elbow into me. “You gotta meet Al’s parents. The nicest lot you’ll ever meet.”

I accidentally met Alex’s eyes from across our booth in the hotel restaurant, and my face went hot. Meeting his parents felt very serious, given our current arrangement– but, of course, we weren’t dating, so they would just be meeting me as Miles’s friend. The tag along merch girl.

“We should all grab a drink before the show,” Alex said, and I looked up, found his eyes still on me. “With Mum and Dad.”

“I owe your mum a drink anyway,” Matt joked. “She did my laundry the last time she came to L.A.”

“So does that mean we’re getting proper pissed  _ tonight _ ?” Jamie asked.

We were back in England for the first time of the tour, back home, so everyone agreed.

* * *

 

The next day, walking into the hotel bar to meet the boys and Alex’s parents for drinks before the show, I felt inexplicably nervous. Miles was beside me, standing in the doorway, dressed in a tight, plaid suit, beaming as he scanned the room for “Penny and David” as he kept calling them. I spotted them before he did– sitting in a corner table, talking and laughing. Alex sat next to his mom, leaning towards her with a smile, watching with a laugh as Matt waved his arms emphatically to tell a story. 

Miles made a beeline for them, and sat in the booth seat next to Alex’s dad, giving him a handshake, and then a hug.

“Mum, Dad,” Alex said. “This is Adri– she’s an old friend of Miles– she’s been working ‘is merch table.”

He gestured for me to sit in the empty chair next to his mom, so I did.

“Shame you ‘ave to put up with this lot,” Alex’s dad joked.

“They’re not so bad,” I replied. “If you don’t mind the smell.”

Mr. Turner guffawed– the kind of perfect, good-natured dad-laugh that my distinguished professor father never offered.

“Where are you from, Adri?” Mrs. Turner asked.

“New York,” I told her. “But I live in L.A. now.”

“Adri’s dad is a languages teacher too, Penny!” Miles offered, like it was a revolutionary piece of information.

“Oh, really?” she sounded genuinely interested, eyes crinkling behind her glasses as she sipped her ale. “What does he teach?”

“Portuguese,” I told her. “He was born in Portugal, actually. What did you teach?”

“German.”

I smiled, pulled out some rusty german and asked her if she enjoyed teaching it. Miles’s eyes bugged out of his head, jaw dropped with a smile, and Mrs. Turner gave a shriek of delight, her cheeks pink with surprise and alcohol.

We had a full on conversation in german for several minutes, before Miles shouted, “What the bloody hell! It’s like I don’t even know _you,_ Adri!”

I laughed. “My dad’s fluent in five languages– he tried to make me as fluent in as many as he could. Only three took– and german was one.”

“David,” Mrs. Turner waved at her husband. “Get her a drink!”

Next to his mom, Alex was eyeing me, smiling like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, like he wanted to say or do something he couldn’t. Miles got up and got us all a round, and by the time we got to the venue, Mrs. Turner and I were drinking and chatting about music and movies, and Miles and the Arctic Monkeys, like we’d been girlfriends for years. She even sat with me at the merch table while Miles performed and I had no customers.

“He’s such a nice boy,” she was saying about Miles. “I’m glad he’s got a nice girl like you.”

I shook my head fervently, wanting her to know– very badly for some reason– that Miles and I weren’t together. “We’re just friends, actually.”

“Oh, I thought–” she stammered. “I’m sorry, dear– I just assumed.”

I laughed, “It’s okay! It happens all the time. Just best friends.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s got you as a friend,” she amended with a smile. “And Alex too.”

* * *

 

Alex’s parents left after the show, and Mrs. Turner gave me a long, warm hug, saying she hoped she’d see me again in german. I had genuinely enjoyed hanging out with her– had felt like I was hanging out with my own mom, a nice change of pace from the constant barrage of boys that I was faced with on this tour. I didn’t think much of it as I was in my hotel room alone, getting ready for bed, until Alex texted me. 

_ Mum loved you - she’s texting me right now raving about you _

I smiled, and texted him back:  _ The feeling is mutual. She’s the best _

_ What are you doing?  _ he asked.

I had been about to take a long shower and get to bed, anticipating another several days of bus travel in the morning.

_ About to shower _

He immediately texted back, asking:  _ Fancy a drink with me first? _

_ Where? _

_ My room, 435 _

I slipped on my shoes and wandered down to the very end of the hall, where he immediately answered my knock. He let me in, and as I walked past him, I saw his large room– the balcony and river view, all lit up with city lights.

“I don’t have a balcony,” I complained, walking over to it, looking out the windows.

He poured me a drink– whiskey and coke– and said, “Do you want to sit outside?”

“Is it cold out?”

It was October, a chill creeping into the air, especially on the river, so he grabbed one of his leather jackets off a nearby chair and draped it over me. We took our whiskey outside and sat at the wrought iron table, the sound of cars below us practically carried away on the wind.

“So… german?”

I smiled and sipped my drink.

“Were you just keeping that in your back pocket for the day you met my mum?” he asked, smirking.

“Yeah,” I replied, picking my bare feet up to lay them in his lap. “I learned the whole language just to impress her.”

“Well, it bloody worked,” he said.

I considered him for a moment. “So, you’re sort of a mama’s boy?”

He laughed, swallowing his mouthful of whiskey. “Meaning what?”

“You love your mom, you’re close with her,” I shrugged.

He looked almost bashful, looking into his drink when he said, “Of course I am.”

“That’s really sweet.”

He looked up, met my eyes and said: “If she meddled at all she would ‘ave told me to ask you to marry me tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. “She thought Miles and I were  _ dating _ .”

“She knew that wasn’t true when I walked them to their car,” he smiled. “Trust me.”

I shrugged, the whiskey settling into my skin, warming me up. Alex’s free hand rested on my jeans, slid down to my ankle, held my bare skin in his hands.

“It made me feel almost guilty for being so naughty with you,” he said, low and quiet.

“Is that what you’re doing?” I challenged. “Being naughty?”

“Not yet.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him, but his eyes were locked on mine, and he was serious.

He drained his glass and put it on the table between us, stood and said, “You wanted a shower?”

My heart beat a little faster in my chest, my blood thrumming to life as he put a hand out to help me stand.

In the warm yellow light of his luxurious hotel bathroom, the whiskey hummed with the rush of anticipation in my veins, made me feel like I was buzzing as Alex turned on the shower, steam immediately beginning to spill from behind the shower curtain.

He was slow and deliberate as he reached out for me, grabbed the lapel of his leather jacket, gently peeled it off of me, one sleeve at a time.

After it dropped to the floor, his hands were on my hips, pulling me to him, and he whispered, “I’ve wanted to touch you all night.”

“Was it the german?” I joked.

He smirked, kissed me with a flick of his tongue as he unbuttoned my jeans, pulled them down until he was kneeling in front of me. His eyes met mine as my hands found his shoulders, practically quivering, waiting for his next move, and then he gently pressed his lips to the front of my black underwear, where I was going hot and achy, making me gasp.

Standing back up, he trailed his fingertips along the lengths of my legs, making me shiver, and I pushed at his shirt, pulled it up over his head. After dropping it to the floor, I hooked my hands around his neck, pulled his lips down to mine. His mouth fell open against my fervent tongue, and his hands cupped my ass, pressing my whole body to him. I could feel his erection through his jeans, felt my stomach go hot with the building pressure, the tingling in my limbs.

He pulled away to yank my shirt off, diving back down to kiss along my jawline, tongue working to lap and suck tenderly at the skin of my neck as his hands roamed my nearly naked body, the material of my bra, the curve from waist to hip, the skin of my lower back.

I thought I was going to come undone from the slickness of his tongue, so much so that I grabbed clumsily at the buttons of his jeans, his zipper, pushed his pants down. He pulled away to kick them off, and I cupped his dick through the fabric of his boxer briefs, felt breathless as he unhooked my bra, fought for control to undress me.

When he went back down to his knees, slowly, agonizingly pulling my underwear down, his tongue darted out against me, once, twice, before grabbing me to his mouth, working me open with his tongue. The force of his movements nearly made me double over, clutching his bare shoulders, grabbing fistfuls of his hair to stay up. My blood was building into the perfect peak, pressure mounting behind his mouth, making me gasp, pant, moan as he devoured me, humming against my clit in satisfaction.

I cried his name when I felt myself begin to lose it, eyes closed against my spinning vision, against the peaking pleasure, the rising heat. And he felt it, mouth more furious, tongue pressing perfectly against me, inside me, until I came with a shudder, shaking against him, crying out again and again.

When I sighed in contentment he stood, pushed his own underwear down and stepped into the hot water, helping me in in front of him.

As the water streamed down on us, he pulled me to him, slick skin against slick skin, and kissed me, backed me up to the cold tile of the wall, his dick pressed to me tantalizingly.

His tongue was furious, searching, battling for control between my lips, and my hands found themselves tangled in his hair again. Between us, he cupped my breasts, squeezed, before he lifted my leg to wrap around him, poised and waiting to slide himself inside of me.

I moaned as he paused, smirking down at me.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“So are you,” I tugged at his hair more forcefully. “I want you.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“I want you to be  _ naughty _ ,” I teased.

He smirked, his lip curling back in pleasure as he eased himself into me, and then out, and then back in, a little more each time, until I was pressing myself into the tile behind me, squirming as the heat licked at my insides, tingling against his dick.

“‘Ow’s that?” he whispered, driving himself into me harder, faster, hitting the perfect spot of pleasure, making me cry out against him, nodding fervently. “Naughty enough to make you come, love?”

His words made me lose it, the feeling and his thrusts churning me into a frenzy of spasms, tightening around him, whole body going warm with a rush of pleasure that spilled into orgasm, as he rose into a crescendo of curses, my name, moans of his own, and then he was coming himself, pinning me to the wall as he collapsed into his own orgasm.

Breathing deeply against each other, the water rushing around us, he kissed me then– my shoulder, my neck, my lips, and then my forehead.

And when we had untangled ourselves, I grabbed the shampoo and handed it to him. He smirked, and then turned me around with his free hand, washed my hair and massaged my scalp like he had been doing it his whole life. And when he rinsed it all out, I leaned back against his naked body, the water warm and comforting around us, and he put his arms around me, buried his face in the crook of my neck, and I would have done anything to stay there for the rest of the tour.


	8. Between Offenbach en Main and Munich, Germany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We were on the road in the middle of the night, somewhere between Offenbach en Main and Munich, and it had been around two weeks since Manchester– since the last time Alex and I had hooked up. And, if I was being honest, I was craving his body, the closeness of him, our intimate, shared conversation. But we had been on a bus for two weeks. Sex, or anything intimate, wasn’t really possible without everyone being made aware.
> 
> I was thinking just this, when the curtain of my bunk was lifted without warning in the dark, and Alex climbed into the close space of my little bed, pressing himself in beside me– practically on top of me– and letting the curtain shut behind him."

**Between Offenbach en Main and Munich, Germany**

We spent a lot of time on the bus after Manchester. First, it was throughout the UK, from Manchester to London, to Liverpool, and then Cardiff, and then on the continent itself. We didn’t have a lot of time to ourselves, not much privacy, not much quiet or solitude. The only time I really had time or quiet, time where I would scroll through photographs on my phone, catch up on social media,  _ think– _ anything on my own– was when the bus drove through European roads at night. While all the boys slept, and the miles passed around us, the bus was quiet enough, dark enough, solitary enough, and I stayed up in my bunk below Miles many nights, soaking it up to think.

I thought about Chris. I thought through our relationship– all the reasons it hadn’t worked out, that made the break up easier, made total sense. I thought about how much I missed his presence though– as a friend, as a constant in my life. More often, I was thinking about how different he was from Alex– how our physical chemistry was an entirely different animal.

And I thought about Alex. I thought about that chemistry, about the spark between us. His face swam behind my sleep deprived eyes– even though I spent all day, every day with him and the rest of the boys. I thought about his hands all over me. I thought about what it would be like to be in an actual relationship with him. But then I thought about Miles, and I squashed that train of thinking very quickly.

We were on the road in the middle of the night, somewhere between Offenbach en Main and Munich, and it had been around two weeks since Manchester– since the last time Alex and I had hooked up. And, if I was being honest, I was craving his body, the closeness of him, our intimate, shared conversation. But we had been on a bus for two weeks. Sex, or anything intimate, wasn’t really possible without everyone being made aware.

I was thinking just this, when the curtain of my bunk was lifted without warning in the dark, and Alex climbed into the close space of my little bed, pressing himself in beside me– practically on top of me– and letting the curtain shut behind him.

I had thought everyone was asleep– dead to the world as the miles flew by us– but Alex was apparently thinking along the same lines as I was. I knew, because he was immediately kissing me in the close space of the dark, tongue immediately intent, rushed– like he hadn’t had a drink of water in weeks, and I was the glass he had been craving, that he needed.

I felt the same way– was just as quickly reacting, pressing myself to him, tongue and lips intent and hurried as his hands tangled themselves in my hair.

In only a tank top and shorts, I was suddenly hot under the blankets, against his body, and I quietly kicked the blankets off so I could be closer to him. As I did so, his hands were automatically gliding up my shirt, his callused fingers rubbing against the skin of my stomach, moving upward until he was cupping my breasts, thumbs gently pressing against my nipples– no bra to act as a barrier between us. I silently sighed as his hands clutched at me, as his mouth sucked a path from jaw to nipple, pushing the material of my tank top aside to get better access to the most sensitive patches of skin.

With my hands buried in his hair, his lips and tongue working at each nipple, my mind swam with how much I had wanted this without even knowing it– without even realizing how desperate I was for his body and presence. And then I felt him against me, growing hard, and I thought I would spiral out of control in the close space of my bunk, with the german road flying by below us.

Without warning, he slid a hand below the waistband of my shorts, and I thought I would come undone from the movement– from the anticipation growing with his hitching breath in my ear. And then his fingers were fluttering against my clit, trembling from the building desire, pressing against me just enough to make my eyes flutter and my breath got hot against him.

“I missed you,” he whispered directly into my ear, lips against me, low enough that only I could hear, and I felt myself unraveling.

There was only so much room that we were working with in the bunk, and our bodies had to press more tightly together for us to fit, but it made his fingers work more intently, the pressure build from our closeness alone, and I ground against him as well, the secret closeness of our entanglement setting a fire all its own.

I felt myself building to an orgasm when he climbed on top of me, so close that he didn’t hit the top of my bunk, his fingers still working intently as his mouth found mine once more– his tongue hot and furious between my lips, against my own. He worked my clit vigorously, until I was nearly crying into his mouth. He kept his lips pressed against my own to keep me quiet, and his careful, continuous movements sent me crashing into an orgasm that made me swallow my own sounds against his tongue, desperate.

He kept working until my spasms receded, and then he worked his pants off, and I was maneuvering myself on top of him, so close I could feel his hot breath against my neck as I eased his dick inside of me, mouth open in a silent moan as he filled me up.

When I started to grind against him, he wrapped two arms around me, keeping me pressed against him, and it built the friction against my clit as well, as I felt his dick fill me up over and over again, hitting the spot of heat within me, making stars burst behind my eyes.

I couldn’t help the mewl that climbed up my throat, and he pulled my face down to his once more as I ground against him, swallowing the sounds that came out of me, until I was practically moaning into him, pussy tightening against him, shuddering with another orgasm.

I didn’t stop until he was coming undone himself, pressed to me in the dark, panting quietly.

“Fuck, Adri,” he whispered, and I worried Miles could hear him above us, but it sounded like he was still snoring, fast asleep.

Alex stayed pressed against me, arms wrapped around me, until we woke up at dawn and he had to sneak out of my bunk before we were caught.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just get a tiny bit of smut. Hope you enjoyed! More to come soon!


	9. Paris, France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Miles finally went to sleep when we got back at dawn, but I went straight to Alex’s room. I knocked repeatedly, knuckles rapping in quick succession on the wood his door, until his confused and bleary-eyed face appeared.
> 
> 'Adri?' His voice was groggy and deep. 'What’re you doin’ ‘ere?'
> 
> 'I need to talk to you,' I said, and I pushed past him, into his dark room.
> 
> He didn’t object, only shut the door behind me, turned to face me. He had one bedside table lamp on, and the curtains were drawn against the rising sun, but I could his rumpled hair, messy and wild, and his t-shirt and sweats. I had never seen him so undone, and it almost made me change my mind."

**Paris, France**

If London was Miles’s wife, Paris was his naughty mistress.

There was something about it that always made him love-drunk, his always-exuberant energy kicked up to full volume. His eyes swam with wine as he hooked his arm around me on cobbled streets, sloppily kissing me, talking into my hair about how much he loved me, about how beautiful I was– somehow, stone-cold sober. Liverpool accented French curdled out of his mouth as he clutched at Alex’s waist like a clingy girlfriend in a Parisian lounge. He flirted with  _ everyone– _ looked like he would sleep with  _ anyone– _ as he guzzled red wine and cheese, practically  _ singing _ at a belt as he sashayed around Ile-de-Cité.

It was with this energy that Miles woke me up in the middle of the night on our first night in Paris.

We had traveled by bus from Berlin for nearly half a day, and I was exhausted, sore, cranky. The boys had two consecutive shows the next couple of days, and everyone had called it an early night in favor of real beds– the first since before Germany. But not Miles.

“Miles,” I groaned in the dark, not even wondering how he got into my room. “Fuck.  _ Off _ .”

“Bug, come on,” he whispered, wine-flavored breath close to my face, making me turn into my pillow to get away from him. “We’re in  _ Paris _ .”

He over-pronounced Paris like a real French person– Pa _ ree,  _ his tongue curling to exaggerate the nasal sound– and I wanted to punch him in the teeth.

“Go away.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” he sang lightly, tickling my ear with his breath, his words blowing my own hair against my skin. He smacked a drunken, wet kiss against my temple. “Come on, babe–  _ We’ll always have Paris _ .”

I knew he wouldn’t stop. He was going to keep crooning and whispering movie lines, tickling and kissing me, until I was roused out of bed to fight him– where he would immediately convince me to wander the Old Town with him until the sun came up. 

I didn’t have the energy to fight him though, or to even endure his fight to convince me, so I just pulled myself up with a groan and told him he would be getting me a crépe.

Outside, the streets were shining with water. It had been raining when we arrived that evening, but had stopped while I slept. As a result, the cobblestones outside were gleaming under each streetlamp and the lights of the still-open bars and cafés. I huddled into one of Miles’s track jackets as we walked toward Notre Dame, a chilly breeze coming off the river, and he pulled me to him, kept one arm wrapped around me.

“Alex and I ‘ave been talkin’ about writin’ somethin’.”

His words surprised me. He hadn’t mentioned the Last Shadow Puppets in years– at least not in a forward-thinking way– and I hadn’t seen Alex and him talking about it at all, though we had certainly been in close enough quarters that I thought I would notice. In a moment, it sent my thoughts cartwheeling.

I felt, strangely, like they had left me out of something. How had Miles, or Alex, not mentioned a word of this to me?

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Miles said, not noticing a change in my disposition– thankfully. “Timin’ seems right– bein’ on tour together and all.”

I didn’t say anything. I was feeling cranky all of a sudden– I knew it was reminiscent of a bratty child feeling left out someone else’s friendship bracelets, but that didn’t stop me from feeling it.

“Alex says he’s got some new things he’s been writin’,” he said. “And he thinks it’ll be good for the Shadow Puppets. I think it’s about time we did a second album!”

All at once, I felt like an ass hole.

Miles sounded thrilled at the idea of working with Alex again. And of course Alex and Miles didn’t need to clue me in on their Last Shadow Puppets work– it wasn’t any of my business, was it? Yet– if I was feeling left out just because they had been talking about working together without my knowing– imagine how Miles would feel if he found out Alex and I had been hooking up while on tour without  _ his _ having any idea.

The guilt sunk into my stomach like a boulder– for the millionth time since the tour began– and I contemplated stepping straight into the Seine as we reached it. Just let the guilt drag me to the bottom.

“‘Ey,” Miles was saying, squeezing me to him as the beautiful, golden monstrosity of a glowing Notre Dame drew closer with our footsteps. “If the Shadow Puppets go on tour, you can be our merch girl! Permanent fixture on all of my tours, yeah?”

I vowed to end things with Alex in that moment. Miles was too good to me, too important to me– and the idea of him finding out, not knowing how he would take it other than being very definitely hurt, hardened my resolve.

Miles stopped next to the river, finally acknowledging my silence, and he turned to stand in front of me, peering into my face.

“What’s this then?” he asked softly, two hands holding onto my arms, keeping me securely in place.

His voice was so concerned, so sweet, so  _ Miles _ , that I thought about telling him about me and Alex. Surely my best friend, someone who looked at me which so much genuine concern couldn’t hate me for this.

“Bug?”

I saw Alex in my mind’s eye, and my chest felt tight. I didn’t want to give him up,  _ or _ ruin his friendship with Miles. It would be one thing to ruin my own, but this wasn’t just my secret to tell.

I shook my head, looking down at my sneakers.

“Is it Chris?”

I pulled in a harsh breath– because that was an entirely different wound I didn’t want to think about.

Taking my reaction as confirmation, Miles pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around me. The safety I felt in that hug, the comfort, the closeness, the absolute sense of  _ home _ , decided me. I would talk to Alex and end things. If I couldn’t tell Miles, that was the least I could do.

* * *

We returned to the hotel as the sky began to lighten. Halfway between Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, we had stopped into a bar and split a bottle of wine. I had felt better knowing I was going to make things right, and I sank into the warmth of bantering with Miles. We joked and laughed, reminiscing about the last time we were in Paris– when he had been filming a music video and invited me along, where his girlfriend at the time had thrown a hair dryer at him for doing so, misunderstanding his intentions. We talked about what we would do when we were back in L.A.– where none of the scenarios even remotely involved me moving out of his house. He mentioned a ballerina from New York he might go out with, that he had been talking to long distance while on tour. And then, we walked the rest of the way to the Eiffel Tower, sat on the tiles of Trocadero, and leaned against each other, staring at the sparkling tower in comfortable silence.

Miles finally went to sleep when we got back at dawn, but I went straight to Alex’s room. I knocked repeatedly, knuckles rapping in quick succession on the wood his door, until his confused and bleary-eyed face appeared.

“Adri?” His voice was groggy and deep. “What’re you doin’ ‘ere?”

“I need to talk to you,” I said, and I pushed past him, into his dark room.

He didn’t object, only shut the door behind me, turned to face me. He had one bedside table lamp on, and the curtains were drawn against the rising sun, but I could his rumpled hair, messy and wild, and his t-shirt and sweats. I had never seen him so undone, and it almost made me change my mind.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “Sit,” he gestured for the bed.

I sat down, and the sheets were still warm from where he had just been sitting. He sat next to me, angled toward me, and I felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him, to sink against his chest and fall asleep in the sheets that smelled so strongly of him.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to plow forward before I did something I would regret, and I said, “I was just with Miles.”

Alex looked concerned, almost alarmed, for a brief moment.

“I just– I can’t lie to him like this anymore,” I let out in a rush. “He would be devastated if he knew we were keeping something like this from him, and I just– We should stop.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but looked down into his lap. When he met my eyes, he said, “You’re right.”

Part of me felt knee-jerk disappointment– the subconscious part of me that had wanted him to fight this– but I squashed it down.

“I like you, Adri,” he said, and his voice was feather-soft, still rough with sleep, making my chest ache.

“I like you too,” I whispered back, feeling overcome with emotion. Because, although this had started out as a purely physical attraction, there was something about Alex’s presence, his smile, conversation with him, that I had begun to crave regularly as well. It hurt to know I was consciously putting a stop to that.

“But I don’t want to ‘urt Miles either.”

I nodded, feeling like the breath had gone out of my lungs.

It seemed both of us understood that telling him wasn’t an option. We didn’t know how he would react, but the possibility of it going wrong outweighed the possibility that we could get everything we wanted.

“We’re still friends,” I finally managed to say.

Alex smiled tiredly, reached out and gently rubbed a thumb against the apple of my cheek. We stared at one another for a moment, before I kissed him on the cheek, relishing his familiar smell of gel and tobacco and detergent, and then I left without a word.


	10. Barcelona, Spain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'I might find another bar,' Alex said, catching my eye. 'Adri, fancy another drink'
> 
> The look he gave me wasn’t suggestive or cloying, just companionable, and I could have hugged him for saving me– for being my friend.
> 
> I nodded eagerly and followed him in the opposite direction of Miles."
> 
> Adri struggles with Miles's new relationship and Alex tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I know nothing about Suki Waterhouse. I'm sure she's a lovely person. Everything herein is made up, purely for fictional purposes. No hate intended whatsoever.

**Barcelona, Spain**

I very seriously considered leaving the tour and going back to the U.S. early. I had come along to save myself from a broken heart, but after ending things with Alex, that didn’t seem possible. He was everywhere– writing and working with Miles on the tour bus, his voice booming all around me from where I stood at the merch table at each venue, his laugh sinking into my skin as we all trudged down hotel hallways in the middle of the night. It became harder to escape him. I could smell his shampoo as I walked by his bunk, grazed elbows with him in passing, caught his eye at random moments. And as the days passed in Europe, it was beginning to get harder and harder to deny the truth.

I had  _ feelings _ for Alex, and it fucking  _ sucked _ .

Not to mention, Miles paid for his new ballerina to come visit him in Spain, and I had to adjust to the fact that I would be experiencing a loved up Miles once more.

And as the bus left Madrid for Barcelona– where we would be meeting his ballerina, Lacy– I reflected on Miles’s exes.

I like to think the way I felt about Miles’s girlfriends was the same way he felt about all of my boyfriends. There was this level of possessiveness, jealousy, and doubt that was reminiscent of us once having had a relationship, but was entirely platonic. It was born out of this feeling that no one was good enough for him (including me, to be honest), and that I wanted him all to myself.

That’s not to say I hadn’t become friends with Miles’s exes. Or,  _ friendly _ , at the very least. But usually they had a problem with me too. They didn’t understand our relationship, our level of closeness, the fact that we had once dated and were now just entirely best friends. They didn’t like that Miles could be touchy feely– even with his platonic friends– and usually stared daggers at his arm wrapped around me as we walked, or an errant kiss he would plant square on my lips when we greeted each other.

It was Suki who threw the hair dryer at him– after months of anxiety and paranoia about our friendship, of Miles brushing off her concerns and attempts at drawn out conversations about our relationship, she lost it. And you know, I got it. I really did. She was young– only twenty at the time– and we never clicked, and it made her self-conscious.

To her credit, she tried. Before she met me, Miles had told her all about me, about our friendship, and she had set out to impress me, to befriend me the first time we met. It was at a dinner Miles had set up for the three of us when I was in London. Chris wasn’t with me, so she asked tons of questions about him, complimented my outfit, gushed about the nice things Miles said about me. And I tried my best to reciprocate, but there was something stiff about her interactions with me– with  _ Miles _ , even– forced.

Then we agreed to get another drink after dinner, and Miles was two vodkas deep, and he slung an arm around my waist and pulled me to him, kissed my cheek, while we walked toward the pub– while Suki was left walking beside us, solitary on the sidewalk.

She was shocked, annoyed, upset and, again,  _ I got it _ . 

But she didn’t even consider that we hadn’t seen each other in person in months, that we had been best friends for years, that we could both look in each others’ eyes and see how strained the evening was. Physical contact was Miles’s love language– it was his way of reassuring himself and me that everything was okay, saying hello, saying it was still us against the world.

She sulked for the rest of the night, gave both of us the silent treatment at the pub, and then Miles told me she blew up at him once they were alone. And that was it for us. She never tried to befriend me after that. Things were stilted and uncomfortable for the next two years, and when Miles saw me it was usually without her. And then when he went to Paris for a video shoot, and he told her in their hotel room that he had invited me to fly over, she threw a hair dryer at him in a fit of blind outrage.

They broke up not long after. 

And that was Miles’s last girlfriend. So, I was obviously hesitant and nervous to meet this new girl– his new love interest– unsure of what it would do to our relationship, or what my presence would do to  _ theirs _ .

We had one night in a hotel in Barcelona before we flew back to England for a couple of shows, and it was in the early hours of the morning, as I was trudging my suitcases along a brightly lit, Spanish corridor, that Miles asked me to entertain Lacy at the merch table during the show.

“What?”

I noticed Alex turn back to glance at us once, prompted by my annoyed squawk, before he continued walking in silence with the rest of the boys.

“Just while I’m performin’,” Miles said, nonplussed. “There’s no room backstage and I don’t want ‘er sittin’ in me dressin’ room all alone.”

“Miles, I don’t even know this girl,” I hissed at him, worried about how bitchy I might turn out without Miles’s presence to rein me in. The best friend guard dog in me let loose without a leash.

“Just be your charmin’ self,” he grinned. “She’ll love you in no time.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him, but I also couldn’t refuse.

* * *

 

Lacy turned out to be a tiny, paper thin thing with long, pitch-black tresses, and the biggest blue eyes I had ever seen. She was demure, but friendly, and when Miles deposited her at the merch table before the show, we very quickly realized we had absolutely nothing to talk about. 

We exhausted the obvious almost immediately– our careers, her flight, the tour, Barcelona– and we kept hitting dead ends. 

“So, you’re a ballerina?”

“Yes.”

“That must have been quite a bit of training.”

“Yeah– started when I was pretty much a toddler.”

“Wow.”

“What do you do?”

“This.”

Silence.

“How was your flight?” 

“Good.”

“Have you been to Barcelona before?” 

“Yeah, once. You?”

“Yeah.”

Silence again.

It was unbearable. Finally, she offered to get us a couple of drinks, and I was grateful beyond words. When she walked away elegantly for the bar, I sagged in the relief of being alone.

There was nothing wrong with her, I reasoned. Miles saw  _ something _ , so there was that. And so far, she didn’t seem to hate me. I was just bored out of my mind.

When she came back with four drinks– two for each of us– I thought there might be some potential. And then, when the crowd picked up around the merch table, and she stepped in to help without even being asked, or offering, I knew this might be Miles’s  _ one _ .

* * *

 

We went to the Gothic Quarter after the show– stumbled upon a hole in the wall bar with a Moroccan theme. We sat at low tables, under dim, glowing lamps, and listened to American jazz, drinking as the boys came down from the high of the show. I watched across the table as Miles flirted shamelessly with Lacy, as her exterior fell away and I could finally see why he was smitten with her. She wasn’t boring with him. She laughed at his corny jokes, and leaned into his touch. Her eyes genuinely lit up at his stories, and she asked questions where I would have snarked him off topic. 

Something in my chest caught at the sight of them, and I chugged my drink– I had lost count of which drink number I had reached, but that didn’t even seem to enter into my head. 

I didn’t begrudge Miles a relationship– I wasn’t that jealous or possessive. I knew my sadness was the same as with every other girlfriend Miles had had– probably the same for him with every boyfriend  _ I  _ had. It was the fear of losing him to  _ this one _ , the worry that our friendship was going to change, possibly take a backseat to this romance. Which, I knew was ridiculous, because if this was the woman he was going to marry, she should come before me. 

The woman he was going to  _ marry _ ? That was the moment that I realized maybe I had had a little too much to drink.

I acknowledged it, but I didn’t stop. 

When we left the Moroccan bar, Miles and Lacy said they were going to wander the Gothic Quarter, and the boys decided they were going to head back to the hotel. Awkwardly, I tried to decide what to do.

“I might find another bar,” Alex said, catching my eye. “Adri, fancy another drink?” 

The look he gave me wasn’t suggestive or cloying, just companionable, and I could have hugged him for saving me– for being my friend. 

I nodded eagerly and followed him in the opposite direction of Miles and Lacy. 

We walked the tiny, winding gothic lanes, shivering in the chill night air. It was late, but Barcelona was humming with life, with people walking and laughing around us, going in and out of bars and restaurants. We passed a number of places we could have grabbed a drink, but we didn’t go into any of them, we just walked. And I had to admit, I was grateful, because I was so drunk by then I didn’t think I could have stomached another drink.

This became evident when I stumbled over my own feet only a couple of blocks away from where we left the group, and Alex put an arm around me, steadying me.

“Woah!” he laughed. “Someone’s ‘ad a bit too much, eh?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine, love,” he said, keeping me walking a straight path. “Why don’t we get you some food?”

He led me into the nearest bar, and ordered some water and tapas before I could even argue. And I had to admit, the warmth of the bar, and sitting in a cushy booth, felt really nice.

“You going to try and take advantage of me?” I joked drunkenly, sipping my water when it arrived, mentally berating myself for even making the joke.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

I shrugged.

“I’m not in the ‘abit of taking advantage of girls as pissed as you,” he said. “Not unless I’m that pissed too. And they’re interested.”

“Touché.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and I tried to focus my eyes on his beautiful face– the exact slope of his jawline, his quiff coming undone– and I felt my stomach flip.

“‘Ow do you feel about Miles’s new bird?”

I shrugged.

“Come on,” he teased. “If ‘e ‘ates all of your boyfriends you must ‘ave an opinion about all of his girlfriends.”

“She seems nice.”

“You sound sad.” 

His words brought me up short, and I met his gaze. I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen him so serious. There was no trace of apathy or bravado, no nonchalance or cocky humor, just someone who was genuinely observing what was going on behind my eyes, empathetic.

I shook my head. “It’s not what you think.”

Our food arrived then, and Alex nudged both plates of tomato bread and cheese at me.

I grabbed a piece of bread and bit into it, just as he said, “I don’t think anything.”

I was too drunk and too comfortable with him to fight it. I deflated at his words and replied, “It’s just– What Miles and I have is so great– No one has ever meant so much to me before– and the thought of losing him is… It just sucks.”

Alex considered me without saying anything.

“And then there’s the fact that Miles is the best relationship I’ve ever had, and it  _ failed _ ,” I drunkenly vented. “What does that say about  _ me _ ?”

Alex wasn’t able to stop the laugh that burbled out of his mouth.

“It’s not funny!”

He sobered up, though a smile was twitching at the corner of his lips. “You’re right– Sorry.”

I grabbed another piece of bread and shoved it in my mouth as well, feeling pathetic and dejected.

“It’s hopeless.”

“It’s not. You’re just pissed.”

I made a face at him. “Maybe.”

We were silent for a moment, and I thought of Miles– of Miles and Suki, Miles and Lacy, Miles and anyone but me.

“I want Mi to be happy,” I said. “I just– I don’t want to lose him.”

“I don’t think you could lose ‘im if you tried, Adri.”

I looked up and Alex was smiling, and I knew he was right. Miles was too good of a friend to forget me– even for his soulmate. Whoever she was.

* * *

 

We were walking back to the hotel, my brain still alcohol-logged despite the tapas, when I let my fondness for Alex wash over me. I let it push all of my sadness, fear of loneliness, worry, out of the way, and I grab Alex’s hand. 

He was the one that was unsteady when I pulled him close to me, but he recovered quickly, hands on my waist, righting both of us. 

His lips were immediately close to mine, and I leaned up towards him, dizzy with how much I wanted him– how much I’d missed him.

My fingers were clutching at his waist as well, through the material of his jacket, in the middle of a tiny alleyway, when he stopped me.

“Adri, we shouldn’t,” he whispered, though his eyes looked as if he felt otherwise.

His breath was warm against my lips, but my heart sunk at his words. 

He was right, of course. We had talked about this. It was  _ my _ decision that we stop our secret relationship– in the interest of not hurting Miles, or each other– and we had both agreed. 

It didn't make it suck any less.

Either way, I extricated myself from him, and we walked back to the hotel in silence.


	11. Los Angeles, United States - A Third Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had a hand around the back of his neck before he could finish my name, pulling him to me, lips pressed against lips. Instantly, his hands were at my waist, gripping me tightly, pulled me to him, kissing me back. It only took seconds before he pulled away though, breathless.
> 
> 'Adri,' he searched my eyes. 'What’s this then? Are you all right?'
> 
> I shook my head. 'I don’t want to think about it anymore,' I told him. 'I just want you.'"
> 
> Alex and Adri reconnect in L.A.

**Los Angeles, United States - A Third Time**

After Spain, I felt like I was anchorless– like a quarter-life crisis was truly pushing me out to drift at sea. I woke up every day in another city, struggling to find a purpose, without a job, without a boyfriend, without a home, surviving on Miles’s charity. I sold his merchandise, and drank in different bars and clubs with the boys, watched their shows, rode their highs, but I felt nothing. I didn’t have Alex anymore as a distraction, and it felt like I was spinning further away from Miles in my agitated existential crisis. So, as my melancholia rose higher into a panicked bout of prolonged anxiety while we toured the United Kingdom, I decided I had to leave the tour.

Back in the U.S., when we had a day off in Portland, I asked Miles to get coffee with me.

He looked out of place but totally comfortable sitting in a crunchy, hipster café, with the sun beating down on him through the windows. His chunky ring and chain glinted in the light, and he didn’t take off his aviator sunglasses. He got a few stares for his purple and silver paisley button-up (unbuttoned halfway, of course), and skin-tight white jeans, but he didn’t seem phased as he sipped his espresso straight.

“Mi,” I began finally, thinking of Barcelona, of his time with Lacy and my attempt to do… whatever it was I thought I was going to do with Alex… and feeling anxious once more. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He put down his espresso and folded his hands between his skinny knees, listening.

“I think when we get to L.A., I’m going to stay.”

His eyebrows knit together and his forehead wrinkled behind his silver sunglasses, but he didn’t say anything yet.

Shaking my head, I gripped the warmth of my coffee cup, and I continued, saying, “It’s just– I feel like I’ve been such a mess and I need to get my shit together. I don’t have a home, or a job, and it’s making me crazy.”

“Yeh goin’ through a break up, Bug,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “Of course yeh feel mad.”

“I just– I don’t think I should keep living off of your charity,” I fumbled, unable to articulate fully why I needed to leave the tour. “And I don’t think I’m going to solve anything while on the road.”

Leaning forward and putting his hands over mine on my coffee, he said, “Look, Ad, if you want to go ‘ome, I’m not goin’ to stop yeh, yeah? But I don’t fink it matters where yeh are.” He let go of my hands for a minute to take off his sunglasses, his familiar brown eyes finding mine fully as he continued, “If you need to figure fings out, I fink yeh need to do that fer yehself– and I fink you can do that anywhere.”

I knew exactly what he meant. He was talking about my need to figure out what I wanted to do with my life at all– where I wanted to live, what I wanted to do, who I wanted to be. He meant that he thought I needed to do some soul-searching– and he was right– and I could do that anywhere.

“Besides, if yer gonna go mad about it, I’d rather be there to pick up the pieces, yeah?” he smirked, joking.

I rolled my eyes at him but smiled. If I was going to figure out my shit, I would have preferred him to be nearby too.

“Listen, babe,” he finally said. “Do what you need to– either way– don’t worry about me, yeah?”

I nodded.

“You let me know what you need, and I’ll make it ‘appen.”

“Thanks, Mi.”

* * *

 After talking to Miles, I really didn’t know what I was going to do. He hadn’t fully talked me out of leaving the tour, but he had definitely talked me out of being sure about it. So, I was planning on waiting to see how I felt by the time I got to L.A.

I hadn’t anticipated Chris’s call though.

We were on the bus, on the way to Oakland again when his name flashed on my phone, sending my heart into my throat.

Miles looked across the table at me, and he could see something was amiss. Alex, as well, from where he was reading on the couch, picked it up and eyed me.

Standing and moving to the back of the bus where it was quiet, I answered.

“Adri,” Chris said, and his voice sounded serious. “Hi.”

“What’s up?” I asked, and I looked up to see Miles had followed me, was standing in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, brows knit in concern.

“Are you in L.A.?” Chris asked. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

“I’m not,” I replied, whole body on edge. “But I will be tomorrow.”

“Can you come by the house?” he insisted. “Or we can meet for coffee?”

I didn’t know what this meant. Did he want to get back together? Was he about to tell me he was getting married?

I shook my head, though he couldn’t see me, and said, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll text you tomorrow and we can figure it out.”

“Okay,” I answered, and then hung up, because I didn’t know what else to say.

* * *

 From Oakland to L.A., Miles tried to talk me out of seeing Chris. At first, he was quiet, he whispered, he was concerned for my privacy in the bus with the boys. But when I didn’t listen to him, when it slowly escalated into an argument, no one could miss Miles’s raised voice.

“It’s not a good idea,” he said, his voice bordering on actually angry as the bus bumped along hot, California highway. “When ‘as a reunion wif Chris ever ended well for you, Adri?”

I was keenly aware of Nick and Matt and Jamie all averting their eyes, focusing on their phones. While I had grown close to them all over the course of our time on tour, I felt embarrassment at them listening to the intimate details of my failed relationship, played out in this fight with Miles. And then there was Alex, sitting with his back to me– so I was unable to read his face– staring at the pages of a book, in full earshot as well. It felt like acid sliding down my back, and all of my muscles contracted against it, my stomach turned.

“Are you going to get back together wif ‘im then?” Miles asked, point black.

My eyes found the back of Alex’s neck, but I couldn’t detect any change or reaction.

“No,” I answered, turning to meet Miles’s gaze. “That’s not what this is about.”

He must have heard the finality in my voice, because he shut up for the rest of the bus ride. And he didn’t fight me when we got back to his place for our one night in L.A., and I went straight to my car to meet Chris.

“We ‘ave to be at the venue in an hour,” he yelled after me.

I waved at him in acknowledgement, heart beginning to pound as I started the car and left his driveway.

Chris and I met at a coffee shop on Sunset. He was already sitting at a table outside when I got there, and I sat down, my back baking in the hot sun, and ordered an ice water when the waitress came by, my mouth unbearably dry.

“You look good,” Chris said, and I could tell his voice was shaking.

He was nervous. I knew, suddenly, that he wasn’t here to ask for a reunion, and I felt slight relief, but also confusion.

What was this then?

“Thanks,” I replied, sweat trickling down the back of my neck. I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t have anything else _to say_. He was the one that had asked to meet, I wasn’t going to make small talk.

“What have you been up to since–”

“Chris,” I cut him off. “Why did you ask me to meet you? What’s up?”

The waitress dropped off my water, we declined her offer for anything else, and when we were alone again, Chris met my eyes.

“Adri,” he began, his voice quavering. “I’m sorry how everything turned out between us. I never wanted to hurt you.”

My back stiffened at his words. This was old news. Why did he ask me here? To _apologize_ for something that was long past?

“I’ve felt so guilty since you moved out,” he began, looking into his iced coffee, “I had to see you to tell you the truth.”

I felt my heartbeat in my throat, and I swallowed against it, my sweat suddenly cold all over my body.

“We had problems for so long,” he shook his head. “I should have ended it sooner– before– I told you I met someone, but I had– she and I had been together for months before you moved out.”

My eyes found the grain of the sidewalk, and I focused on it, unable to understand his words.

“Adri, I’m sorry,” he almost sounded like he was going to cry. “You were my best friend, and I really didn’t want to hurt you– I didn’t know what else to do?”

“You cheated on me.”

He didn’t say anything.

He was playing it off like he had cheated on me to spare my _feelings_ ? Was claiming that we were best friends, and that’s why he had had an affair, rather than dump me? I wanted to laugh, and cry, and flip the table on him. I thought of Miles, my actual best friend, who fought with me tooth and nail, pissed me off, nagged at me the whole bus ride from Oakland just to protect me from this. _That’s_ what a best friend did. I thought of Alex, of his hands on my body, his soft, caring voice in my ear. I thought of all the conversations we had had in the past weeks, about how straight forward and good he was.

I felt sick.

“You cheated on me,” I repeated, as if saying it was stamping it into reality in my brain.

I thought of the last months of our relationship, where I had tried so hard to fix things. I thought of how desperate I had been to resuscitate our relationship that I had all but seduced him just a week before we had broken up. And he had had sex with me. It had been awful, forced, both of us giving an effort we didn’t have.

The whole time he had been with someone else.

I couldn’t tell if it was nausea or rage or tears climbing up my throat, but I pushed my chair and stood up, turned and ignored him when he called my name.

I felt like I blacked out until I was pushing my way into the Shrine Auditorium, weaving my way around the roadies I had been working with for weeks. I couldn’t tell if I had cried on the ride over, or if I was shaking with rage, but I didn’t even think about it when I saw Matt and asked him where Alex was.

“Al?” he asked, making sure I hadn’t meant Miles. “Gettin’ ready. Down the hall there. Last door on the right.”

I followed his directions, found Alex’s dressing room door amidst piles of cables and stacked amps. I knocked three times, hurriedly, before he was opening the door, surprised to see me, a question in his eyes.

I pushed him backwards, into the room, shutting and locking the door behind me.

“Ad–?”

I had a hand around the back of his neck before he could finish my name, pulling him to me, lips pressed against lips. Instantly, his hands were at my waist, gripping me tightly, pulled me to him, kissing me back. It only took seconds before he pulled away though, breathless.

“Adri,” he searched my eyes. “What’s this then? Are you all right?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to think about it anymore,” I told him. “I just want you.”

“I thought–”

“I don’t know what this is between us,” I said. “But I don’t want to fight it anymore. I’ve missed you.”

I knew it was true. Chris’s betrayal had shaken loose all these feelings and memories of Alex– the truth that we fit together, that we had chemistry and a connection that was undeniable. I had never felt it before, not with Miles, not with Chris, not with any boyfriend, and I didn’t want to risk losing it.

“I missed you too,” he whispered with a smirk, hands cupping either side of my face, his skin rough and warm.

Slowly, he closed the space between us, lips slow and measured against mine. I pressed my body along the length of his, and his tongue and breath became hurried, impatient. His mouth went to my neck, sucking, nipping, furiously at my pulse, as he backed me up against the door, hands sliding their way up my shirt.

“I missed this,” he whispered into my ear, making me shiver, hands burying themselves in his hair.

I was already on fire when he unbuttoned my jeans, slid his hand inside, pressing myself into the wood of the door with an impatient breath. He smirked, dark eyes boring into mine as he inched his fingers lower, sliding against me, firm against my clit, making my eyes flutter shut. He created a rhythm that made me breathless, that sent me arching against him, riding his fingers, biting my lip to keep silent until his mouth was on mine again. He slipped a finger inside of me, worked me as I came undone from the rising heat, crying into his mouth, tightening around him, shuddering against his body as I came fast and hard.

When he made to step away, to unpin me from the door, I reached for his belt. He smirked down at me as I worked his pants off, took his dick into my hand, making him sigh.

“Did you miss _this_?” I whispered, as he had to lean a hand against the door to stay upright, eyelids flickering in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Adri,” he moaned, hands gripping the flesh of my hips, mouth finding mine once more.

Clumsily, he pushed my jeans and underwear down, and I lifted a leg around him, hungry for more. He didn’t wait, slid into me slowly, making us both pant harder, breath caught in our trapped kisses. His hips thrust harder as my blood rose higher, as our eyes met, his beautiful brown eyes hooded, wanting me, and the connection was so good, so intense, that I felt myself coming again, with the friction of our entwined bodies and the pulse of his dick inside me.

It was only a second later that he came as well– beautiful and uninhibited– that our bodies stilled, coming down from the high, catching our breath against the door. We were both shaking as we got dressed, but then he pulled me into his arms, and my pulse slowly returned to normal with his lips pressed against my hair.

He was about to say something when there was a quick rapping at the door.

“Sound check in five,” someone said, before their footsteps disappeared back down the hallway.

Our eyes met in silence, and he leaned down to kiss me, soft and slow, before we both had to return to reality.


End file.
